Arkenstone and Starlight
by YangHuiZhen
Summary: Fire and flame drive her into exile when Smaug attacks the Lonely Mountain, spiders and orcs poison the outskirts of his kingdom when a Necromancer settles down in Dol Guldur. Worried about the fate of their people their paths cross several times until a dangerous quest will decide about the fate of all free people of Middle Earth.
1. Prologue: A Chance Meeting

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the characters and storylines of 'The Hobbit' or 'The Lord of the Rings'. Both belong to the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien, who brought us

the breathtaking novels, and to the not less brilliant ideas of Peter Jackson who gave us six amazing movies.

I own my OCs (Dis' mother, Dis' husband, inhabitants of the different settlements of men, elves and dwarves) and the storylines I invented myself.

* * *

**Summary:**

Dis, the little princess of the house of Durin, grows up within the great halls of Erebor, sheltered and loved by her family. She does not know about suffering and losses until the day Smaug comes and drives her kin into exile.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, has to witness how his kingdom gets driven into isolation after a mysterious Necromancer settles within the old fortress of Dol Guldur and after the Old Forest Road gets abandoned. Therefore the alliance with Erebor and the trade with Esgaroth and Dale are of great importance to him and his kin.

When Dis meets Thranduil, during one of his visits with her grandfather, Thror, she senses that things didn't go well and she tries to get an answer why. Less do they know that it will take decades until he will be able to tell her the truth.

* * *

**Prologue: T.A. 2769 - A Chance Meeting  
**

„Why are you sad?"

At first he didn't react to the childlike voice that addressed him. Later he wasn't sure if he even noticed it at that point of time. There was so much on his mind within this moment, that a silent whisper like this was hardly able to tear him out of his thoughts. And what was this little sound compared to the obvious: the beginning of an end.

The end of an alliance which may not have been built on friendship, but which always had been kept alive due to mutual respect and due to the need to be prepared if the evil should ever return. And he was convinced they would need this alliance.

Not now, perhaps not in a hundred years, but one day and he had always been willing to keep to his word – although the memories he carried with him, the memories of the horrors of war, would never leave him.

He felt that the days became darker, but he'd not mingle into the business of others as long as he would be strong enough to defend the borders of his realm – and if the only reason was to honour what so many lost their lives for. It was the realm his father once built and he'd allow no one to cross its borders without giving them his allowance, but he also knew that he'd not have the strength to withstand the powers of darkness if the shadow he suspected to hide in the vast lands of Mordor should ever rise again.

Mordor!

Even to think of it still shook him to the core and so he turned his once blooming kingdom into a fortress and built new halls below ground when he heard of a shady sorcerer who founded a stronghold which was soon known as Dol Guldur and when he found that orcs and giant spiders started to populate the woods, weaving their webs and poisoning the lands.

He watched with unease that both, men and dwarves, abandoned the old forest road and that the Hobbits who once settled close to his realm, near the eastern border of the forest, left for never to return. His kingdom got more and more isolated and so it happened that soon only his kin still knew about the narrow path they had raised to replace the old forest road and that neither visitors nor travellers dared to set a step into the woods anymore.

It was at this point of time that the people of Middle Earth started to name the once proud forest Mirkwood instead of Greenwood and that rumour spread about an ancient evil that dwelled within the ruins of Dol Guldur.

He knew about the rumour and he knew what rumour was able to cause, but he did not mind. Another hundred years and it would turn into a story told at the fireplaces of lonely travellers, told under a starlit sky during long nights spent in the open.

Nonetheless, he was aware that the friendly ties he cultivated with the nearby kingdoms of Erebor and Dale as well as with the city of Esgaroth would become even more important than they had ever been before.

Erebor!

He had witnessed how the Dwarves turned the Lonely Mountain into a flourishing kingdom.

He had witnessed how greed had driven them away to search for gold and riches in the Grey Mountains, although they knew what their greed had woken up in the deep depths of the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dum.

And he had witnessed when they returned to the Lonely Mountain – after the death of their king when a cold dragon attacked and devastated their halls in the Grey Mountains.

They were from Durin's folk, descendants of Durin, the Deathless, and they were as proud as they were assiduous and stubborn, but first and foremost they were great miners and artists, great craftsmen and traders. The goods they forged and crafted were of high workmanship and they were not only valued by the people of Dale and Esgaroth, but also by the Elves of the Woodland Realm.

Their king, Thror, was a just leader and visitors of all realms, equal if Dwarf or Elf, Man or Hobbit, were always and at any time welcome within his halls. No one who ever came to meet him would have doubted that he and his kin would hold the kingdom under the mountain as his line was strong and ensured by his son and his grandsons and as he commanded an army of well trained soldiers, but as often when strength and birthright seemed to be unshakable and deep-seated, a shadow would dim the light.

Things started to change when one day a jewel got found deep within the mountain; a white jewel, pure and shimmering within the light of the miner's lantern and of the size of a grown man's fist.

Thror took it for a sign: a sign for his right to rule and he made sure that it would become an heirloom of his kin!

He named it the King's Jewel, the Heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone!

And the king under the mountain started to change, slowly, barely noticeable, but constantly:

Distrust started to darken his mind and greed started to poison his heart and neither his heirs nor his allies knew about a cure.

He let out a sigh. Maybe he'd have...

* * *

"Why are you sad?"

The silent and childlike voice addressed him again and a small hand tugged at his coat.

He stopped short, frowned and had a puzzled look at the wee one, who stood behind him while staring at him curiously out of wide eyes. He waved his escort to go ahead and a forced smile appeared upon his lips when he beheld the bold little dwarfling.

"Why should I be sad", he asked in return.

"Cause you are", the wee child replied: "Why?"

"What makes you think I am?"

"When you came here, you smiled, now you don't..."

Torn between the wish to leave the great halls of the Dwarven king without further delay and the knowledge that this dwarfling was not the reason for this wish, he cocked his eyebrows and blinked. If he was right, this child was a girl. She was tiny compared to him, but as it seemed she was not afraid. Out of a sudden resolve he went down on one knee to have a closer look and, yes, this dwarfling was a girl. Her grey eyes appeared to be a bit too big within the small face, but her wide smile compensated this and made them shine like the jewels the workers found within the countless mines. Her tuft of black hair looked uncombed although it was skilfully braided and her dress of best fabric, nightblue velvet and bright blue brocade, had obviously seen better days once. The little cheeks were stained with ash as were her fingers and her feet stuck within the same heavy boots like he knew them from grown dwarves – just fitting her feet.

There she stood and watched him as he watched her, and as there was no one around except her and him, he remarked: "You shouldn't be here. All alone."

She crossed her hands behind her back and shrugged: "I ran away."

"What of?"

"The nursemaid."

"Will you tell me why?"

"Cause I wanted to see you!"

"Me?"

"Yes! They said you'd come here...and...and I was so excited...but they did not allow me to stay. That's why I ran away." She nodded to confirm her statement.

"But you know you will cause your nursemaid trouble, do you?"

The wee lass pouted: "It's not fair!" Then she huffed: "My brothers are allowed to go everywhere. Even to see you! But I did too!" The smile returned: "From a hideout! No one knows."

"I do now!"

She locked eyes with his and placed a finger in front of her lips, shaking her head: "Shhh! You will not tell them, right?"

"No", he shook his head: "I won't. I promise!"

The little dwarfling looked at his hair and the way it waved over his back when he shook his head, then she reached out to grab a strand and marveled at it: "Where are your braids?"

"I have none..."

"Oh...", she giggled and had a look at his face: "No beard either. My grandfather has a big one. It's all white and he puts gems in it..."

"Won't you tell me who your grandfather is?"

"You know him! When you went to see him you were smiling, now you're sad. Why? Why did my grandfather make you sad?"

He looked at her again and all at once he understood. This curious little dwarrowdam was the third child of Thrain, the king's son. The two sons, Thorin, the eldest, and Frerin, the second, he knew. He had seen them several times when he had paid the king under the mountain his visits, but he had never heard about the third child. Now he knew why. Female dwarves were rare and so they took care of them very well, which meant that this little princess was worth more than all the jewels they'd ever find within the mines.

He inhaled a breath and tried not to look too stern when he gave her an answer: "That is a story too long to tell it to you here, in a corridor. And it is not the time to tell it to you now."

"Why not?"

"Cause", a dark and melodious voice mingled in: "you'll not keep the king from his duties any longer!"

A noble lady hastened over to them, dressed in regal attire, her face stern and worried.

The wee lass winced, when she recognized her mother. She let go the strand of his hair, she had still kept within her hand and looked at him while she bit her lower lip: "Will you come back?"

"Yes", he said: "and an Elf always keeps to his word."

Her eyes brightened and she smiled at him, when she reached out again and when her tiny hand touched his cheek: "I like you!"

"Dis!" Her mother picked her up and looked at him apologetically: "Forgive her, my lord, she shouldn't even be here."

"No need for excuses", he replied: "Nothing happened. Neither to her, nor to me, but if you allow", he got up: "I'll take my leave!"

He nodded at the noble lady, turned round and was about to go, when he had a last look back. The little princess, Dis, was waving him goodbye, while she was eagerly talking to her mother.

And Thranduil smiled...


	2. Keep Her Safe!

**Chapter 1: T.A. 2770 – Keep her safe!**

„It is not my place to dispute his royal dignity and neither is it my place to claim his crown and realm! He's my king as much as he is my father, maybe even more! And he'll be king under the mountain as long as he lives!"

Thrain, son of Thror and heir to the mightiest of all dwarf lords, had a deep draft of zûl and placed the empty mug back on the table before he started pacing the room again. He felt troubled and not even the company of his wife and children was able to dispel this feeling tonight.

They had another long and unedifying quarrel about the fact that his father, the so far undoubted king of Erebor and the leader of their kin, started to change. He was unwilling to admit, that he not only guessed, but already knew it, and he was even more unwilling to think about the consequences this might have if it came to the alliances they had made with the Men of the City of Dale and the Elves of the nearby Greenwood.

At least, the relations with the Woodland Realm seemed to be a bit strained for a couple of months, since this unfortunate incident concerning the gems, Thranduil came to reclaim. But who was he, to doubt the word of his king. He was convinced, Thror was right, when he asked for a higher payment and as there was nothing written down that would have proved the Elven king to be right, he'd never claim his father to be wrong.

He inhaled a deep breath, then clenched his teeth and frowned, while he let out a silent sigh, staring at his wife. It was useless to make a try to hide his worries from her. She just knew when something was not the way it was supposed to be. Maybe that was a gift only a woman was vested with, a mother in addition.

"It is your place," her dark voice tore him out of his thought: "who, if not you can remind him of his duties?"

"Asdis...!" He stopped pacing, ready to give her a reply, but her gaze out of powder-blue eyes told him that she wasn't yet finished.

"Will you listen! You owe it to your father! You owe it to our people, to our kin! And you owe it to them!"

He let his gaze follow hers, when she pointed at the three young dwarves with her head, who had claimed the place in front of the fireplace, and who were too occupied with themselves to follow the lively discussion their parents led.

"You know, what Thorin told us", she went on: "That Thror spends whole days and nights within the treasure chamber, that he loses his farsightedness and his reason. He does not sleep, he does not eat, except one of us reminds him of doing so." She lowered her gaze and added: "Have you been to Dale, lately? They don't ask frankly, but they ask: if Thror is still alive, if there still is a king under the mountain. No one saw him for months. He has not been out, neither for hunting nor for anything else..."

Thrain rested a hand on one of her shoulders and nodded. He knew what got told in the lanes of Dale and Esgaroth. It was no secret that their allies worried about Erebor's strength. And it was no secret either that their own kin started to gossip about the whereabouts of their king. He had no doubt that the leaders of the other Dwarven realms had a watchful eye on the goings-on of the Lonely Mountain. First and foremost their neighbours from the Iron Hills, descendants of Durin as well...

* * *

The three young dwarves, who sat in front of the fireplace, had different things in mind within this moment, but to worry about the strength of their grandfather's kingdom. The two lads sat on the floor, cross-legged and eyeing each other while brooding over a game of chess. The lass lay on the floor face down, her head rested on her hands, and tried to guess the next moves her brothers would make. She looked at both of them by turns and hoped the younger would win – then the elder would have to take her with him when he'd go hunting. And that was what she longed for – desperately.

"You'll never be a strategist, little brother", Thorin grinned, when he placed his last move to end the match, then he patted his sister's head and added: "And you'll stay at home, wee one. Hunting is not for little dwarrowdams."

"You cheated", Dis pouted and pushed his hand away. "And you", she glared at Frerin: "let him win!"

"I did not!" Frerin talked back and presented her with his most innocent grin.

"You did! 'Cause you think I'm too small..."

"Are you not?" Frerin taunted: "I bet a troll would not even notice if he'd step on you."

"And you are dimwitted like a troll", Dis spat: "Thorin does not hunt for trolls." She stuck her tongue out at him and sat up, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Now, now, little sister! Don't be so eager to see trolls and other unfriendly creatures. You'll come across them soon enough and you won't be pleased."

"You can talk! You are allowed to see them all, unfriendly or not...but", she looked at her brothers sure of victory: "I talked to the Elvenking."

"Oh, did you hear that, Thorin?" Frerin jumped to his feet, picked her up and kissed her cheek: "You little brat! What fairy tales do you want to tell us?"

"No fairy tale", she protested: "He said, he'll come back and tell me a story..."

"Thranduil?" Thorin cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. If he was honest, he found it hard to imagine that the always focussed and always deliberate elf would anybody promise a thing like this.

"I even touched his cheek", Dis went on, visibly proud: "it was all smooth..."

Frerin burst out laughing and then started tickling her: "You'll not fall for an elf, little one, eh?"

The wee lass squirmed in her brother's arms and laughed until tears were running down her cheeks. "Let me out", she giggled: "Let me out!"

The three young dwarves interrupted their merry discussion, when they heard the voice of their mother: "That will do for tonight. It's time for you to sleep, young lass." The lady Asdis tried to keep stern, when Frerin handed her daughter over to her: "And you lads should lay down as well. You'll have to get up before sunrise for a good hunt, Thorin, and you should also be rested, Frerin. We'll go to Dale tomorrow morning!"

Dis wrapped her arms round her mother's neck and leaned her cheek against her mother's, whispering:"I go as well, right? To Dale...?"

"And what about the trolls and the hunting?" Thorin asked, giving her a wink.

She wrinkled her nose: "Keep your trolls! Mum will get me sweets, right? You will, mum?"

Lady Asdis cuddled her wee lass and ruffled her younger son's hair: "We'll see..."

* * *

It was in the afternoon, when the Lady Asdis and her son and daughter returned home from their visit at Dale. They were grateful for the ponies and that they did not have to walk as it was a hot midsummer day, and as only a slight breeze waved over from River Running.

It was all calm and the main gates of Erebor were close.

"She has quickly forgotten about the hunting", Frerin stated having a look at his sister, who was sleeping peacefully while sitting in the saddle in front of her mother.

"The market days of Dale always had the same effect on you young dwarves", his mother replied: "The traders, all the different goods, the scents and sounds; enough to explore for a curious lad or lass.

"You spoiled her today."

Asdis brushed some curls from her daughter's sweaty brow and smiled: "I didn't for a rather long while..."

She had not yet finished her sentence when suddenly the slight breeze turned into a gust of wind coming from the North. The dwarf lady frowned and turned towards her son: "As it seems the weather will change. Let's hurry! I don't like the thought to stay in the open during a thunderstorm."

She drove her pony on, but when they reached the gates and got greeted by the guards, there was nothing to spot that would give a hint that there was a thunderstorm to expect. Only the wind got stronger and the trees started to bend under its impact. She shook her head, convincing herself again that there was nothing to spot, and got off her pony.

Frerin was following her on her heels when she hastened inside and they almost stumbled into Thorin, who had just returned from his hunting expedition.

"What's going on out there", he asked: "There was no game to spot all day long. That's why I decided to return early." When neither his mother nor his brother were able to give him a reply, he dragged Frerin with him: "We'll have a look from down the battlements. Take care of our wee one, mother, we'll let you know when we'll find out what the meaning of this is."

* * *

When the brothers reached the battlements the wind had turned into a storm and the guards were waiting for orders. Thorin bent over the balustrade and stopped short in shock. Smoke and ashes rose where normally the towers and roofs of Dale were to spot. Flames blasted against the otherwise clear blue sky and then he saw it.

He turned round, pale like death, and all he said, when he saw the banners flutter due to the storm, was: "Hide yourself! All of you!"

Frerin stared at him in utter confusion and asked while a first fountain of fire and flame hit the mountain: "What is it?"

"A dragon", Thorin replied: "Go and search for our mother! Go!" Pushing his brother out of his way, he turned round and yelled that his voice resounded from Erebor's walls: "Dragon!"

The same moment hell broke loose, when panic and fear grabbed for the dwarves of Erebor.

Frerin jumped down the stairs and ran through countless corridors, tried not to get into the way of the guards and the soldiers who pushed past him and headed to secure the gates and to face whatever it was that sought to enter the great halls. He was out of breath when he finally reached the quarters the royal family inhabited.

Lady Asdis looked up. She didn't have to ask him to understand that the roaring and the thunder she just heard had nothing to do with a common thunderstorm.

She swallowed hard, then asked: "Is it as bad as we expected?"

"It's worse, mother." Frerin lowered his head: "Dale is lost. It's a sea of flames..."

"How is this..." Her voice died away when a terrible guess started to choke her.

"A fire drake! It destroyed the city and I'm not sure if our forces will hold out against it. Mother, I fear, it will enter the mountain!"

Asdis nodded, her face a mirror of the storm that raged deep inside her, and then, in a sudden resolve, she grabbed a bag and started to stuff it with whatever clothes were in reach, adding a little chest filled with gems and jewels and a purse heavy with golden coins: "Take this, lad! No questions! There's no time for explanations."

With it, she filled a second bag, wrapped her sleeping daughter in a blanket and said, while she picked Dis up: "We have to get out of here. Where's your brother? Where's Thorin?"

"He sent me here to warn you. I suppose, he's with father, trying to stop the beast."

"That's what I feared!" Asdis sighed, but then she straightened: "Well, then it's up to us to get as many out of here as possible."

Before she left her chamber she had a last look at everything that meant home to her and there was something within her gaze that troubled her son, although he wasn't sure about the why.

* * *

When they hurried through the corridors, nothing was as it had been only an hour before. The smell of burned wood and worse filled the air, motionless bodies almost made them stumble and more and more often it happened, that debris and burst columns barred their way.

The dragon had smashed the main gate and had left a trace of death and ravage when it stomped through the corridors and it had been just by chance that the lady Asdis, her son and her daughter escaped the beast only by a hair's breadth. Hidden behind a pile of debris the fiery breath of the dragon singed the tips of their hair and left minor burn marks due to the heat only, not due to the fire.

It was hard to bear to hear the screaming and roaring echo through the halls, mingled with the sound of weapons and armour and the groan of the dying, and it was kind of an odyssey to find a way out as some of the corridors were not just filled with debris but with dense smoke and fire as well. Dead ends wherever they looked at.

It was a small group Asdis and Frerin led through the labyrinth of corridors and halls, tried to reach one of the side gates, which meant safety and fresh air, and tried to calm down the desperate dwarves of their kin who were filled with pure horror, while her little daughter clung to her, crying, eyes wide in panic and not able to understand what was happening to them.

Then, when they had almost reached the narrow corridor that led to the side gate, it happened that they heard the rumble close to them. Dust wrapped them in, when smaller stones and loose material rained down on them and Asdis and Frerin changed a worried look. They drove the dwarves on, they were accompanied by, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door got pushed open and when sunlight and fresh air flooded in.

Only a few steps kept them from getting out of the halls, when screams from behind made them turn round.

"Seems, some of them lost their way!" Frerin said with a low voice.

Asdis looked at her son in despair and then made her decision: "Stay here, lad! I'll get them out of here. Take her!" She kissed her daughter and shoved the lass into Frerin's arms: "And now hurry, lad! Don't turn round, whatever will happen! We'll meet on the other side!" She already wanted to head back into the corridor, but she hesitated and added: "In case that not...Keep her safe, Frerin! Take her to Greenwood. The Elves will know what to do! Promise!" And the young dwarf just nodded.

"No!" Dis screamed and started crying again: "Amad! No! Amad!" She reached her arms out, but in vain. Frerin held her close, when she struggled under his grip, when she saw her mother vanish in the dark: "Amad!"

"She'll be back, little sister", Frerin whispered: "She'll be back!"

The next they heard was a terrible crack, followed by a loud rumble when a huge part of the ceiling broke down...

And everything turned black...


	3. The World Will Burn

**Chapter 2: T.A. 2770 – The World Will Burn**

He poured himself a goblet of wine and turned round to step outside to relish the sight the hidden overlook offered him.

In front of him spread one part of the mighty forest, which once was known as Greenwood the Great, that still gave an impression of how glorious the woodlands had been, before Orcs and giant spiders began to infest them and before the shadow, that dwelled in Dol Guldur, started to disperse the light his people brought here in days of yore.

A slight summer breeze made leaves of green, orange and gold rustle and a scent of flowers, honey and humid forest soil filled the air accompanied by the song of birds and the hum of bees and other insects.

Thranduil loved the sight, the scent and the sounds, but an indistinct fear filled his heart that all of his efforts may be in vain, that he might fail to keep the poisonous shadow and its foul creatures at bay before he'd be able to figure out what or, an even worse thought, who was behind them.

He took a sip of the heavy Dorwinion wine while his gaze travelled further east. The haze of a midsummer day made it impossible to spot any details in the distance, but he knew, the reflection of sunlight, which was to make out on the horizon, marked the location of the Long Lake and of one of the two remarkable centres of trade the race of men built close to his kingdom long ago.

Esgaroth, settled in the middle of the lake, entirely built of wood and rested on countless wooden pillars, got populated by eager traders. Its inhabitants were supposed to be descendants of the Edain and therefore had always good relations with the Woodland Realm and its king. They were also on familiar terms with the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor, which led to active trading and a high amount of mutual respect.

Dale, the small and independent kingdom of men, was settled northward from Esgaroth and the Long Lake. It nestled within a U shaped bend of River Running and was a well known centre of trade and craftsmanship – benefitting from the great halls of Erebor.

Erebor!

When the Lonely Mountain caught his gaze, Thranduil emptied his goblet within one draft and turned away.

He didn't want to think about the mountain and its inhabitants. Months had passed by since his last visit, but the feeling, that dealing with Thror had become more and more fruitless, never left him. In fact, it was true that he never really trusted the children of Durin. Their obsession with gold and treasure led to treason and betrayal quite often in the days of old and their greed made it difficult to trust them – even for their allies and despite the fact that they were great craftsmen and fearsome fighters. But their alliance lasted way too long by now and it was way too valuable for both kingdoms, to put it at stake with levity...

'Why are you sad...?'

The question of the little Dwarven princess resounded within his mind and he remembered that he still owed her an answer, but as it seemed she'd have to wait for it even longer as he didn't have in mind to return to the Lonely Mountain in the near future.

He poured himself another goblet of wine and sat down, his gaze still fixed on the horizon, pondering over the question and its answer.

The longer it lasted, the more he asked himself if it was really sadness or if it was rather disappointment which filled his heart when he left Thror and his kin on that day.

When he went to Erebor that day, it happened to return something of his own home to his halls, jewels, which had the same meaning to him as the Arkenstone had to Thror.

White gems, pure as starlight. Gems he considered as to be the heirloom of his kin. Perfect in every meaning of the word, filigree and of the most beautiful shape a mind could think of. Left to the only hands able to fix some of them after they broke during the long days of fighting and wandering before he led his people back to Greenwood: the hands of the dwarves of Erebor.

Thror's jewellers were known as the most talented and skilled amongst the seven tribes of the dwarves and he had promised that they'd fix the shimmering gems against an acceptable payment.

He had gladly agreed to the Dwarven king's offer and less he would have thought of getting betrayed of what was rightfully his.

The payment got accepted, when he returned to Erebor, as got the gifts he brought along with it, but, alas, all he got in return was a glimpse of the chest and the sparkling gems before the lid got closed again and before the jewels got denied to him for one reason: the payment would not do to ransom the small treasure chest and its content.

There was no arguing about it, he was not in his own halls, and there was no bargaining about it, the king under the mountain would not listen to him.

That was what occurred to him the day, when that wee lass dared to tug on his robe and he was sure, the grandchild of Thror would not have understood the goings-on between him and her grandfather.

After all, she was a child of Durin and she'd grow into one of those greedy dwarves as well, obsessed with riches and treasure, as all of her kin did before and as all of her kin would do who would come after her.

Thranduil huffed and had a look at the goblet he spun slowly within his hands.

Well, at least she had been able to cause him a smile, he thought, which was a little something.

He turned his gaze away from the Lonely Mountain and decided that pondering endlessly over a chest of lost gems wouldn't keep his kingdom safe. There would be another day at a different point of time to make another try to reason about returning them with that stubborn dwarf. Until it was as far as, he'd prefer not to have any dealings with the dwarves of Erebor anymore – equal of their size, age or gender...

* * *

It was later the same day, when he changed his mind within a split second.

First it was just the upcoming breeze that caught his attention, but all in all it was nothing remarkable on a midsummer day, and so he went on with the paperwork he had to deal with, until he got up to get himself some fruit from out of the bowl which stood on the table whereon also the carafe with the Dorwinion stood.

When he looked up and when he let his gaze travel over to the Lonely Mountain again, he stopped short and frowned.

He narrowed his eyes and it didn't need long until he got that something terrible must have happened.

Dense clouds of smoke hovered over the bearings where Dale was settled and Thranduil knew that, whatever was going on within the city of men, required the help of him and his kin.

He didn't hesitate and he didn't dare to lose time.

That was, why he himself went to summon his master of arms and the leaders of his army: "Ready as many as you can. Within an hour we'll leave! There won't be any delay!"

* * *

All effort, all haste and all willpower he had been able to find, had been in vain. When the Elves of Greenwood reached the overlook, it was too late:

The city of Dale got burned to the ground and reduced to ashes. All tries to erase the flames turned out to be fruitless and who had been able to escape the flaming inferno was not always the lucky one compared to those who did die.

Thranduil didn't need to hear what the shocked and petrified fugitives told him, he knew what it was that caused this enormous dimension of destruction and he knew what it was that lured it here. Dale had fallen victim to a fire drake and there was nothing he would have been able to do that would have spared its inhabitants from the horror they had to witness today.

It was not the city of men that lured the dragon here, its mind was set on another, a way more promising prey, and no one and nothing would keep it from taking it.

The main gates of king Thror's great halls got burst open and who knew Erebor's strong gates and walls knew what power it must have been that forced them open without further ado.

Thranduil closed his eyes for a while as he knew what did happen.

It was the gold, the immense treasure Thror had piled up over the years which had dragged the dragon's attention towards the kingdom under the mountain.

The Dwarven king's lust for gold had grown too fierce, his love for treasures had grown too powerful that he turned blind against the obvious and that he turned deaf against all warnings. That blind and that deaf that now his kin fell under the wrath of a fire dragon.

The dwarves took flight from their halls, terrified, many of them just vested with what they had been able to grab before they had to run for their lives and it was a saddening sight.

The Elves of Greenwood waited for his order, but Thranduil just watched, torn between the wish to help and the knowledge that nothing he'd have been able to do would have been enough to bring the dragon down.

This day would not just have seen the senseless deaths of dwarves and men, but of his kin as well and that he was not willing to risk.

It was the greed of the mountain king, which caused this horror and he'd not sacrifice the life of just one Elf to defend a treasure vault. Too deep ran his memories of dragon fire and too deep ran his knowledge what it was able to cause...


	4. Home Is Behind

**Chapter 3: T.A. 2770 – Home Is Behind**

Silence!

There was nothing but silence around him when he regained consciousness; that painful silence which told him that there was no one and nothing alive any more around him.

Frerin didn't dare to open his eyes, afraid of what he'd come to see. He didn't dare to move, because he had no idea how much of the loose debris was still waiting for to crash down on him and for a split second he didn't even dare to either breathe or think. First when his tortured lungs started to revolt, he inhaled a deep breath and coughed until he was able to breathe steadily and regularly again.

When he opened his eyes, he found that they were dry and that they burned from not cried tears, but they widened in surprise and relief, when he recognized that there was still a hint of daylight to spot – not far from where he lay.

His body ached as if every bone was broken, but when he finally tried to move, he thanked Mahal, that this was just what his overstrained mind tried to talk him into.

The young dwarf wanted to get up, but he found himself halfway covering something tender and small and halfway wrapped around it and within just a blink of an eye he was wide awake and aware of what did really happen to him.

Frerin got up to his knees and pulled his little sister in his arms. He started crying in relief when he found that she was still alive and breathing. She was covered with dust and her little cheeks were smeared with dirt and tears, blood poured from a laceration on her temple and the burns on her shoulder looked angry, but she was alive. He pressed her close to his chest, when he stumbled to his feet and then, for the first time since the corridor got blocked, he dared to have a look around.

There was no way back to the halls where they came from. Those who had been behind them would have to search for another way out.

He told this to himself all the time while he stared at the debris and the rocks, which separated him and his sister from his mother and those she wanted to lead out through the side gate. It was, what he wanted to believe, that they were still alive – too terrible was the thought, they could have gotten smashed under tons of rock – but deep inside his innermost he knew the truth.

When Dis moved within his arms, he tore himself out of those dark thoughts. He had to take care of his little sister now as there was no one else to do so and this meant to get her out of this corridor and out of the danger of more debris crashing down on them.

Holding the little lass close, he half ran and half crawled towards the light until he finally reached the side gate. The fresh air, he hoped for, smelled and tasted of burning wood and what else ever he didn't want to think of, but he did not care and inhaled several deep breaths.

It was close to sunset and within the upcoming dusk the world around him looked kind of surreal. The sky got enlightened by the still burning leftovers of Dale and the still blazing trees the Lonely Mountain was overgrown with. It was a cruel spectacle of shadow and light that lit the place and the tired faces of those who succeeded in taking flight from the inferno which had destroyed their home and their hopes.

Frerin felt helpless when he dropped down on a rock and watched his kinsmen and his people being filled with both – fear and despair. Most of them just carried with them what they had been able to grab, some of them not even this. Their faces mirrored every emotion thinkable and the biggest part of them had no idea what to do next or where to go to. There was no way back and the only place they would have been able to reach before nightfall would have been Dale, but the once proud city of men would offer no shelter for them anymore.

Within this moment, the young dwarf got aware that he and his sister were all alone. There was no sign of their family, neither of their brother nor of their father or grandfather, and Frerin had no idea if they were still alive or if they were dead as well. If they were still alive, would they search for them or would they be convinced they died while making a try to escape the dragon...? And what was he supposed to do?

'Take her to Greenwood. The Elves will know what to do!'

His mother's words still resounded within his ears and he knew, she would not come, equal how long he would wait for her. Tears ran down his cheeks again but he wiped them away and straightened. It wasn't yet time to mourn, not as long as there was still a duty he had to fulfil.

He beheld the wee lass within his arms and he knew, he had to keep to his promise.

But before he'd leave, he'd first try to clean their wounds and to dress them. It would take him a couple of days to reach the halls of the Elvenking and he would not take the risk that they would get angry.

Therefore, he picked Dis up and took her down to the clear waters of River Running. The wee lass finally opened her eyes when some cold water met her face and she looked at her brother in utter confusion. She stared at the main gate of Erebor which lay in ruins, at the flames which still enlightened the halls and at all those dwarves who passed them without really taking note of them and when she realized that she and her brother were alone, she curled within Frerin's lap and cried.

When she calmed down a bit, he started to clean the wounds. The laceration wasn't as deep as he first had feared and it would surely heal quickly as would all the black and blue marks she was covered with. What really frightened him were the burns the hot breath of the dragon had left on her shoulder and on her arm and hip but maybe the Elves would...

"Can we go home now?" Dis interrupted his thought: "I don't want to stay here."

"I'm sorry, little sister", Frerin replied: "but we cannot go back."

"But we must! We must find mama!"

"Dis, she was not at the gate and you know what she said, right?"

"Go to the Elves?"

"Yes!"

"And they will all be there? Mama and Thorin and father and grandfather?"

"I don't know..."

Before he was able to finish his last sentence the little lass teared up again: "Frerin, it hurts. When will it stop? Please make it stop..."

"Try to be patient, little one. Just a little longer. We'll soon make it stop."

With it, he covered the burns with some pieces of water soaked cloth and wrapped her in the blanket again, before he picked her up. They had to leave and he had no idea if they would ever return home.

* * *

Frerin was not sure if he had chosen the right path, but when the forest and the brushwood got more and more dense, he was convinced that he and his sister would soon reach the halls of the Elvenking.

If he was honest against himself they needed to reach the halls. The rare supplies they had carried with them ran low and he felt as exhausted as he had never felt before. Dis wasn't able to walk longer distances and so he carried her most of the time. He tried to cheer her up whenever possible by singing her songs or telling her stories, but he knew it would not ease the pain.

To hear the little lass whimper and to watch her toss and turn in her sleep while she actually should giggle and laugh, almost broke his heart.

They had several encounters with other dwarves from Erebor, but none of them had been able to tell them what happened to their brother, father and grandfather. Frerin wasn't even sure if they recognized him and Dis as the children of Thrain. They were tired, dirty and didn't look regal at all any more.

He sighed and looked after his sister before he pulled her in a tight hug and before he lay down for another sleepless night under a starlit sky.

Dis snuggled up to him. She was shivering and Frerin hoped that it was just due to the nightly cold and not due to a fever. He wrapped his arms round her and breathed a kiss upon her cheek before he sung another lullaby for her.


	5. Where There Is Life, There Is Hope

**Chapter 4: T.A. 2770 – Where there is Life, there is Hope**

There was still a thin trail of smoke to spot, where now the ruins of Dale lay; caused by a small number of fires, which weren't willing to die. They still enlightened the sky, spreading a slowly ebbing glow on the horizon after the sun went down and after the night fell.

A few miles further north everything seemed to be calm; calm and dark and of a deadly silence. The flames, the Lonely Mountain had been wrapped in, did finally die when even the last tree got consumed by their wrath and the once glorious kingdom of Erebor lay in ruins.

Just one day had been enough to drive the inhabitants of the two proud kingdoms of dwarves and men into exile and there was not much help, his kin would be able to offer.

Thranduil knew, his halls were neither made, nor meant to house all the fugitives, who would ask for his help during the upcoming weeks, if not months, therefore he had agreed to send healers out to support the men of Dale. He had offered the same to the children of Durin, but not all of them wanted to accept the help that came in the shape of a healer instead of a warrior.

The Lord of Greenwood turned his gaze away from this sight which was only able to sadden him tonight, knowing that the attack of that dragon meant much more in the long run than the loss of lives and culture and the loss of beauty and knowledge. First and foremost, it meant the loss of strength within the everlasting fight against the darkness and the shadows of Mordor and he was aware that the news of the loss of Dale and Erebor would spread all around Middle Earth quickly.

He also knew that, if he was right, if Sauron was still around, the Dark Lord would find out soon that the forces of elves, dwarves and men got enervated and that the old alliances got finally broken. It didn't matter anymore if due to distrust or due to the attack of the dragon – the forces close to the Northern border of Mordor lay shattered into pieces.

Thranduil's heart was heavy and for the first time since ages he felt the gift, the blessing of immortality and the burden of its meaning, weigh on him like never before.

It was not that he lost his will to live or that he felt the longing to set sail for the Undying Lands to follow the call of the white shores and the green fields of Valinor, it was rather that it got more and more grievous to outlive all those who were born mortal.

Their span of life was short anyway and to watch how easy it was to hurt or break them, seemed to him at times to be a waste of everything: time, life, knowledge.

What was a century measured by an age?

They were gone within a blink of an eye, vulnerable, and small...

But nonetheless they were willing to risk everything, their frail lives included, to fight for what they defined as to be just and right and they lived their lives as if it would be forever, denying that they were just candles which would burn down quickly:

Enlightened by a spark in the beginning, burning bright for a while and slowly going out when their vigour got consumed.

Thranduil sighed, but got his attention caught by hasty steps which drew nearer quickly. He got up in anticipation of the late visitor and frowned as he beheld the entrance to his study. The captain of the guard entered the room and approached him, obviously in a hurry.

"My lord", he stopped within a suitable distance and hinted a nod: "News from Dale."

"Whatever it is – let me know!"

"There is not much left, my lord. We met many survivors, who told us what happened when the dragon attacked. They had no time to think about anything but taking flight. Most of them suffer from burns or other wounds and almost all of them from hunger. We do what's in our strength, but I fear it won't be enough to save them all."

"To save them all will be beyond all means. That is a bitter truth, but none you'll be able to prevent. Where will the survivors go to?"

"Most of them will try to rebuild their lives in Esgaroth, but a few want to return to Dale."

"Yes", Thranduil nodded: "that was to be expected. And it will be useless to make a try to talk them out of it." He closed his eyes for a moment, then asked: "Did you receive word from Girion?"

The captain of the guard lowered his gaze. He stepped inwardly from one foot to the other before he straightened and replied: "I'm sorry, my lord, but Lord Giriron fell defending the city. We got told that he tried to fight the dragon shooting black arrows at the beast, but none of them hit its mark."

"Nîn velui a lalaith veren nalú en-agovaded vín, Girion, mellon nin!*" Thranduil whispered.

"But his family is save, my lord! They are on their way to Esgaroth."

"That might become essential one day, but for now it is of less importance." He looked at the captain of the guard, hesitating before he asked: "What about the dwarves? What about Thror and his kin?"

"The dwarves seem to be at odds with each other; about where to go to and about what to do. The biggest part of Thror's kin will seek shelter with his brother, Gror, in the Iron Hills, but a not even small amount will stay with their king and the royal family. As far as we know, he's alive and so are his son and grandsons. It is just..."

"What is it? Speak!"

"My lord, as it seems, there is rumour amongst them that you betrayed the old alliance by not having interfered..."

Thranduil just listened. There was nothing to add and only time would tell, if he did the right thing by leading his army back to Greenwood or not. For now, there would be no reasoning with Thror; neither with him, nor with his son.

He beheld the captain of the guard and asked: "Any other news from Dale or Erebor?"

"Not for the moment. We'll inform you as soon as there will be more for you to know."

The captain of the guard hinted a bow and turned on his heels to leave his king, but when he was halfway out of the door, he stopped and said in a low voice: "Although, my lord, there might be one more thing you possibly should know."

The king cocked his head and looked at him expectantly and so he went on: "What are we supposed to do with the two young dwarves we found close to our gates? They are wounded and exhausted and it stands to be feared that they won't endure the journey to the Iron Hills."

"Where are they now?"

"We took them to the healers."

Thranduil kept silent for a while until he nodded and replied: "You did well to take them here. I'll look after them myself."

* * *

Later that night, in the early hours before sunrise, Thranduil went to the halls of the healers. The elleth, who kept watch with the sick and the wounded greeted him and led him over to the two dwarves the guard had taken here earlier that day.

"They are both asleep now, my lord, but I wonder, how the child was able to survive: on the road for days, without enough food and carrying those burn marks. Her will to live must be strong and so must be her brother. It seems that he carried her all the way from Erebor to your halls."

"I would just like to know what brought them here and why they are not with their kin."

"You'll surely get an answer as soon as one of them wakes up, my lord."

Thranduil wanted to give her a reply, but before he was able to do so, he had a look at the young dwarf who lay in bed in front of him.

He was Frerin, the second born of Thrain, the king's son.

For a moment he felt tempted to wake up the prince of Durin's house, but then he decided to let him sleep and to have a look at the other bed instead.

There, covered with a light blanket, lay Thrain's little daughter, the small face ashen and her tiny figure almost lost amongst the cushions.

Out of a sudden resolve he decided to stay until the wee lass would wake up.

He longed for to learn about the reason, why she and her brother sought shelter with him and his kin and he'd wait for one of them to tell him, even if it would need the rest of the night and the whole upcoming day.

* * *

"Have you come to tell me the story?"

Thranduil blinked when her silent voice tore him out of his slight doze. The little dwarfling sat in bed and watched him. Her cheeks were still pale and she still appeared to be weak, but her eyes sparkled and she obviously didn't feel the pain within this moment the burn marks must cause her.

Dis smiled at him while she crawled over the sheets and blankets to get closer towards him, then she reached a hand out to tuck a strand of his hair back behind his ear. The smile got broader and she said with a contented nod: "Now I can see you." She sat back and asked: "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, it's been quite a while", Thranduil replied, tried to remain stern.

"You must have been tired", she said: "you even slept with half closed eyes. My Amad always says that you can do that only when you're really tired."

He had no idea why, but she caused him an inward smile. That was why he responded all serious: "Your Amad was right. It only works when you are really tired or", he looked straight into her eyes: "when you are an elf."

She clapped hands and beamed: "Another story you'll tell me?"

"Perhaps one day."

"Then Frerin will have to admit that I did not tell him fairy tales. You know, he didn't want to believe me that you promised me to come back to Erebor to tell me a story."

Thranduil nodded: "Well, as it seems, you have been eager to outrun me and to pay me a visit in my halls..."

The little princess raised her gaze and within a split second her smile, her lightheartedness and her strength subsided, when she said: "My Amad sent us here; to wait for her. She said, you'd know what to do with...this." She pointed at the dressed burn marks: "But there was a loud noise and a crack and then I couldn't see her anymore. She won't come, right? She won't come back..." Her voice died away and she got tossed by sobbing.

All her desperation and her hidden pain got mirrored upon her face and her narrow shoulders seemed to be far too small to carry the burden of the horror she had to witness.

Thranduil thought of his father and how the pain of losing him during the Battle of the last Alliance still preyed on his mind and heart when he stayed awake spending countless nights lost in thoughts and brooding over the fate of his kin and realm – and he decided that it was the only thing he'd be able to do and that it would be the right thing:

He reached out to pick the wee lass up and he smiled when she snuggled up against his cheek, her face buried within his hair.

"Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen**", he said in a low voice, holding the crying dwarfling close.

* * *

"You cannot stay here!" Thranduil handed a goblet of wine over to Frerin and poured himself one as well. "It is not ill-will I bear against you, son of Thrain, you just have to return to your kin and king."

"That is understood", the young dwarf replied: "and it is what I want and wish for my sister and me."

"Where will you go, now, as your halls lay in ruins? Many of your people will move to the Iron Hills. You should follow their example and unite your forces."

"You saw what this fire drake was able to cause. Do you really think, my granduncle would risk the lives of his kin to make a try to drive that beast out of the mountain? He wouldn't!"

Frerin stared at the goblet in his hand. He sighed and had a draft of the wine before he added: "It's not for the first time that he and my grandfather witnessed the wrath of a dragon, so, there won't come help from the Iron Hills."

Thranduil didn't give him a reply. He knew enough about the wrath of dragons that it would last for a lifetime. The marks the dragonfire had left upon him burned deep under his skin – still – and he would never forget about its impact...

When he heard the young dwarf speak for the next time, Frerin smiled: "My sister seems very fond of you."

"I never heard that a dwarf was ever fond of an elf. She'll get over it."

"The burns..." Frerin hesitated, ignoring the Elven king's last remark: "Will they heal?"

"I will do, what's in my powers, son of Thrain, but I won't say either yes or no. The scars will always remain where they are, but there are ways to hide them from the eyes of the world."

"Then we'll owe you..."

Thranduil looked at him and lowered his gaze.

He sighed, obviously moved by something different, but all he said was: "You don't. At least not more than you already do. This, I will do for your sister. It is no favour I'll do for your kin..."

* * *

*Sweet waters and light laughter until next we meet, Girion, my friend.

**Golden Sun, may your warmth bring healing to this heart.


	6. Something Of Yours

**Chapter 5: T.A. 2770 – Something Of Yours**

"My lord!"

The Lord of Greenwood was on his way from the halls of healing back to his study, when the captain of the guard caught up with him, greeting him with a respectful nod: "My lord, we finally received news, where Thror led his kin to."

Thranduil stopped and turned on his heels, his eyes slightly widened in expectation when he responded: "They can't have gotten that far. Most of them will have to travel by foot."

"That is true. The king and his people follow the Celduin south. They passed the Long Lake and crossed the Forest River."

"South?" The king frowned.

"Yes, my lord! They'll pass the outskirts of your realm and then trek further south."

Thranduil kept silent over this news. To him there was no sense in leading the survivors of the disaster that had befallen Erebor south. If they would follow Thror on this path, all they would find would be the Brown Lands, the barren wastelands which spread between the Ash Mountains and the part of his realm which was now known amongst the Woodmen as Mirkwood.

No tree grew there anymore, no bushes, after Sauron had devastated the plains during the Battle of the last Alliance at the end of the Second Age and all that was left was a rather endless desert.

He had been there, he had witnessed what the wrath of the deceiver had caused, and there was no reason which would ever justify leading a still paralyzed people into the nowhere – close to the fields of Dagorlad and close to the Emyn Muil, the Dead Marshes...

When he noticed that the captain of the guard still waited for an answer, he looked up and said: "If that is true, if the dwarves are still that close, we will return his grandchildren to Thror as long as he and his kin are still in reach."

"What are your orders for the guard then?"

"I want you to have my horse and armour ready. I'll leave with sunrise."

The captain of the guard looked at him in utter surprise, but he swallowed another question and replied instead: "You'll find your escort ready as ordered!" He hinted a bow and was already on his way to leave when he hesitated and turned round to however ask: "What are those dwarves to you, my lord, that you'll take them back to their kin yourself? Would it not be enough to return them to Thror escorted by a handful of your guards?"

"I won't take the risk that Thror might take it for an offence. He shall learn that it was the wish of their mother, which led them to my halls and that no one forced the young dwarves to stay here – amongst Elves."

* * *

The night was calm and peaceful and a starlit sky spread over the Woodland Realm and the halls of the Elvenking like a cape of black velvet trimmed with countless of the purest of diamonds. A slight breeze made the leaves of the trees rustle and the pale light of a full midsummer moon silvered everything it was able to reach, even the tall and elegant figure that silhouetted against it.

Thranduil stood motionless when the gentle breeze caressed his cheeks and when his face got bathed in the soft light. He didn't mind, he possibly didn't even notice, while his gaze was fixed on the stars and while his thoughts were travelling back in time again as they did so often.

Memories of bygone ages found him, and not all of them were meant to ease his mind or to lighten his heart, but to his own surprise they vanished quickly tonight and he felt himself presented with images of love and sweetness – memories, which did not leave him with the bittersweet taste of loss and despair this time as they did so many times before.

And it was within this moment, that he asked himself why he really cared about those two young dwarves. They had nothing in common. Nothing...

"They told me I must leave when the sun rises. Is that true? 'Cause, if it is true, I don't want it to rise...not so soon..."

Thranduil turned round at the sound of her voice and he admitted to himself that he was glad that she wasn't able to see him smile within this moment. He had almost gotten used to her showing up out of the nothingness and he wondered half in amusement and half in astonishment how she accomplished to escape the watchful eyes of his healers and guards again and again.

Maybe it was because she was that small.

Even now she had to reef the skirts of her nightgown for not to stumble upon it while she stepped closer on bare feet. It was still too long, although it got seamed for an elfling, but, of course, she was no elfling and therefore she looked a bit lost dressed like this.

Nonetheless, he decided to remain serious and that was why he replied: "Yes, young daughter of Thrain, that is true. You'll take your leave in the morning. You have to return to your family."

"I cannot go back. Mama isn't there."

"But don't you think your father and grandfather will miss you as well? And so will your brother."

"Yes", she said: "but", and even within the pale moonlight he was able to spot the sadness mirrored within her eyes: "whereto shall we go? We have no home anymore. The dragon made it his home now."

"Your grandfather is a strong leader, little princess. I know him for many years and I am sure, he will find a new home for you and all of your kin."

"That will be far from Dale and from the mountain and from you..."

"That it will be, but if you'll keep your memories safe in here", he placed a hand over his heart: "no one can take them away from you."

She dropped down on the floor, dragged the nightgown over her knees and her feet and wrapped her arms round her knees, staring at him in awe: "Then it is like a treasure chest?"

"Kind of", he slowly nodded: "and your memories are like the sparkling gems in it."

"Like the treasure chest and the sparkling gems my grandfather keeps for you?"

Thranduil let out a surprised gasp and he felt his jaw drop open at her words. "How do you know", he asked.

Dis giggled: "Have you already forgotten? I watched you from a hideout when you came to see my grandfather...was this why you have been sad? Because he kept the chest with your memories back from you?"

He should have felt angry or upset, but the innocence she was talking with was disarming and therefore he knelt down in front of her and responded: "Yes, that was the reason. My heart and my memories are far away from me now."

She thought about it for a while and kept silent while she bit her lower lip, then, after a while, she said being all stern: "Don't be sad. You said you cannot lose your memories as long as they are safe in here...", she got up and the tiny hand reached out to touch his chest: "And maybe it is better you have them here and not in a chest."

"What makes you think so?"

"You know, my grandfather has a big gem. It's all shiny and white, but I don't like it..."

"Why?"

"He loves it more than me and Frerin and Thorin. He loves all his gold more than us. He makes us all sad..."

Thranduil beheld her. And for the first time he thought, that he might have done her wrong. She was still a dwarfling but she had witnessed and she understood that her grandfather had changed and also why.

Could it be that not all dwarves were greedy and filthy creatures who only cared for gold and riches?

Before he was able to give her a reply, she turned round and ran away.

He blinked, puzzled as she didn't say a word, and even more bemused when she returned only a few moments later.

It was first when she handed a small box over to him, that he understood.

He opened its lid and although only the silvery moonlight flooded the room, he knew what it was she wanted to present him with.

The small chest was filled with some beautiful jewels – rings, earrings, necklaces and bracelets – and with something way more valuable: "You want me to have your memories?"

"Yes", she said: "Until you can get your own back."

* * *

It was late the next day when the Elvenking and his escort reached the camp the exiled dwarves of Erebor had built for the night.

The captain of the guard had been right: They had found King Thror and his people near the banks of the Celduin and as expected the welcome had neither been warm nor heartfelt.

They got eyed distrustfully when they asked for Thror and it didn't need long until the tired and exhausted dwarves formed and alley to let their king pass.

Thranduil got off his horse and hinted a bow when he approached the mighty dwarf lord: "Greetings, Thror, King under Mountain!"

Thror's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Elvenking: "What leads you here, Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood?"

Just a small twitch of Thranduil's cheek revealed that this insult hit its aim, but he just inhaled a deep breath and smiled: "I am here to return something of yours to you. My guards found it close to the gates of my halls and I dared to keep it for a while until it would endure getting taken back to you."

"What could you carry with you that could have a meaning to me or could be of value to me? Can you return my kingdom to me? Can you return their home to them? Can you return the treasure to my kin?"

"Neither!" Thranduil responded: "But I thought you might feel relief if I return your son's children to you!"

He waved his escort to give way to the two young dwarves and the eyes of the Dwarven king widened when he found them healthy and in a good shape, but it was Thorin, the firstborn of his son, who pushed past the royal guards to pull both, his brother and sister, in his arms, his eyes tearing up in relief.

Thror watched this reunion stoic and rather motionless, and his bearing were still hostile and dismissive, when he finally nodded and answered: "We owe you thanks then, for having kept them save, but there is nothing else we owe you. So, tell me, Thranduil Elvenking, what else brought you here?"

"Concern! Concern about your people! You'll lead your people south. That will lead you straight to the Brown Lands, the barren wastelands. Why don't you unite with your brother's kin in the Iron Hills? You could spare your people from hunger and other inconveniences."

"Since when does Thranduil feel concern for the Khazad?"

"Since when forgets the Lord of the Khazad about old alliances?"

"Don't talk to me about the old alliances! You'll agree that it is a strange way to show your concern by leaving a whole people to die. You'll not tell me how to care about my kin!"

"Do as you like, Thror, son of Dain. Lead your people south, but do not say I did not warn you, should we ever meet again! Farewell, King under the Mountain, may fair winds be upon you!"

Thranduil turned round and waved his escort to follow him.

His last gaze was meant for the little princess, when he placed his hand over his heart and when he greeted her, convinced that he'd never meet her again...


	7. Do not say, I did not warn you!

**Chapter 6: T.A. 2770 – Do not say, I did not warn you**

"Mas lediach, hîr nin? Will you not return to your halls together with us?"

The captain of the guard looked at Thranduil and his gaze was filled with a slight hint of concern, when the Lord of Greenwood made no attempt to follow his escort back to his halls.

Since they had left the dwarves, the king had been close-lipped and lost in thoughts. No one dared to ask why and no one dared to talk as long as he did not. They all just wondered, why this meeting had obviously impressed him that deeply.

First when he told his escort to halt and when he got off his horse, silent murmur started.

Thranduil rid himself of his armour and quickly changed into a common woodland elf, while his escort watched him, both, staggered and confused. He wrapped a light cape round his shoulders and put his weapons back to the saddle – sword, bow and arrows.

As soon as this change was complete, no one, who did not know him, would have been able to tell him apart from the rest of his kin and no one, who did not know him, would have been able to recognize the Elvenking within him.

When he noticed the wondering expressions mirrored upon the guards' faces, he finally explained: "I will not accompany you and there will be no discussing it. You'll return to my halls. No one will learn about my absence. No one will follow me. Should one of you disobey, I'll not hesitate to send you to the dungeons by my own hand."

"But, my lord, what about the spiders and the Orcs, who dwell in the forest? They grow bolder and some even got spotted close to the pathway, several times."

"Keep them at bay, should they dare to close in on our halls. Keep the gates closed! Double the guards! No one enters the kingdom as long as I'm absent and no one leaves it!"

"Be iest lin, hîr nin", the captain of the guard slightly bowed: "It will happen as you order!"

Thranduil just nodded.

His escort quickly merged with the dense brushwood of the forest and while the first light of the upcoming morn mingled with the mist rising from the nearby river, he hid his hair and face underneath the wide hood of his cape.

He mounted his horse and a sigh escaped his lips. What he wanted to explore did neither need an armoured escort, nor would it cause him any harm.

At least, none, that would be visible...

A slight move of his heels drove his horse on and he turned upriver.

He would ride northward – towards Dale and Erebor...

* * *

_Dwarves had not been spotted near the Lonely Mountain since the days when Thorin I. had decided to abandon the ancient kingdom of Erebor to lead his kin northwards to the Grey Mountains, the Ered Mithrin. _

_Driven by greed for precious metals and by lust for gems of all kinds, he established new strongholds in the North and reunited the dwarves of his kin with those, who had lived within the Grey Mountains since the days of Durin the Deathless and with those who had dwelled there, since they had taken flight from Khazad-dum._

_The dwarves of Durin's folk succeeded swiftly in building up their new halls, and while, soon after, profitable mines emerged riches of never known value, the Lonely Mountain sank into oblivion for almost four-hundred years, only sung about in long ballads during long winter nights._

_It was then, when no one spent a thought on Erebor anymore, that dragons from the Withered Heath began to afflict the dwarves of Ered Mithrin, lured by the hoards they had piled up within their treasure chambers. _

_The news spread rapidly throughout all Middle Earth, that a cold dragon had killed the Dwarven king and one of his sons and that the dwarves, led by their new king Thror and his youngest brother Gror, would return to their homes under the Lonely Mountain and under the Iron Hills._

_Northmen from all around Rhovanion followed the dwarves and while Thror and his kin restored the kingdom under the mountain back to its former glory, the men of the north turned the small settlement close to River Running into the beautiful and flourishing city of Dale._

_He had spent many days apart from his duties and his kingdom to watch the construction of the main gates of Erebor and of the two enormous statues, which would guard them. _

_Hidden from the curious eyes of dwarves and men, he had witnessed how trade started to blossom between them and how mutual respect and friendship started to grow – and he decided, that he should lead his own kingdom out of its isolation._

_He had offered his friendship and his will to restore the old alliances between Elves, Dwarves and Men to both, the King under the Mountain and the Lord of Dale, knowing that such an agreement would serve all of them well, and they had gladly accepted this offer._

_It was at that time, when he first met Thror, the rightful heir of Durin's house, a young dwarf lord, who was eager to turn Erebor into the most beautiful and most powerful of the seven kingdoms, since Khazad-dum fell under the wrath of the Balrog._

_And Erebor was beautiful!_

_The great halls had been a sight to behold, especially when the gaze fell from the balustrade high above the town down upon is breathtaking architecture with its columns and its arcs, with its niches and its ledges and with its ceiling, which seemed to hover above everything._

_Small figures hurried to and fro the long alleys and corridors, and who was unversed in what Dwarven hands were able to create, would never believe what his eyes presented him with: _

_Polished dark marble covered the alleys and corridors, which spread endlessly all around the city._

_Jewels and molten gold got worked into the also polished columns and the keenly swung arcs, after uncountable skilful and talented hands of thousands of eager dwarves had apparently built them out of the nothing. _

_Lanterns and lusters made of artfully smoothed and cut crystal bathed the whole place in warm and colourful light, reflected by the jewels and the gold which adorned even the smallest niche and the tiniest spot of this miraculous place, causing the illusion of infinity and eternalness..._

* * *

Eternalness! There was no such thing...not for those, whose lives were fragile...

Thranduil reined his horse in, when he reached the overlook, and for the second time within only a few days his gaze fell down upon the ruins of Dale and the desolation the attack of the fire drake had left behind.

Burned trees stretched against the clear blue sky like some oversized claws of a terrible beast, meadows and fields got turned to ash and spread in front of him like a shroud.

Nothing moved, nothing breathed, no bird sang and no sign of life was to spot – not even for the keen eyes of the Elvenking.

How did those who wanted to return to the ruins think to survive?

Where there was nothing left for them, but barren lands, where there lived a dragon close to them now and where there seemed all hope to be lost...

Thranduil shielded his eyes against the sun when he looked over to the gates of Erebor. An enormous void gaped where the dragon had forced the gates open and it looked like a deadly wound or a horrible scar.

His hand sank and he closed his eyes for a while, when sadness and grief grasped for him.

He asked himself if there were still survivors left, who strayed through the corridors and the empty halls, searching for a way out.

If yes, how long would they be able to hold out, till the dragon would get them, till they would run out of supplies and till they would die from hunger and thirst?

And what about those who got trapped?

Thinking about everything the two young dwarves had told him, it was not to foreclose that their mother had endured a fate like this, together with those of her kin, she wanted to save. How long could they keep up until they would realize that they would suffocate?

The Lord of Greenwood lowered his head.

He thought of his last visit within King Thror's mighty halls, of his wish to get spared from the greed and the stubbornness of dwarves and of the hint of guilt he felt, now, as the mountain king's realm lay reduced to ashes.

"Be at peace, sons and daughters of Durin", he whispered: "Sleep now, in the arms of your father and be welcomed within the halls of your ancestors."

* * *

"_Gamut manan ai-menu! Welcome, elf, amongst the dwarves of Durin's folk! Have a seat, have a zûl, have a meal! It's not good bargaining if the stomach is empty and the throat is dry!"_

_Thror, son of Dain I. King under the Mountain, had prepared a heartfelt welcome for his guests from the nearby Woodland Realm and he had accepted without hesitating, even though the greeting had been rather jovial instead of formally._

_This dwarf, able to fill a room with his presence, was hardly of age when first they met, but he was all eager to prove to his kin and to his visitors, that there was no doubt about him being the rightful heir to the kingdom under the mountain and that he was a true son of Durin._

"_These halls still need some improvement, but what do you expect after almost four-hundred years of abandonment?"_

_The negotiations had taken the whole day, but not, as he had feared, because Thror would not have been willing to agree to an alliance, but because of all the music and song and food he had prepared for his guests. The young Dwarven king had turned the meeting into a feast and even he, Thranduil, had to admit, that the Nogothrim knew how to celebrate._

* * *

Fragments of songs and ballads came to his mind, as did the distant echo of laughter and music...

But they were not meant to be sung or hummed today...

Not today...

Perhaps never again...

They were buried deep inside him and he'd not allow them to get to the surface of his troubled mind.

Because it would mean, that he cared, because it would mean that he forgot.

* * *

"_Your lust for gold will be your downfall. Don't you remember what drove you out of your halls in the Grey Mountains? This is no treasure chamber, this is a hoard already!"_

"_Tell me, my Elvish friend, why you are always concerned?"_

"_Will you take the risk to lure a dragon here? You cannot be that blind, Thror, son of Durin's folk! It is no secret that your kind has a fierce love for gold, but yours seems to grow too fierce!"_

"_This is just a treasure chamber. Nothing evil will ever spread from it."_

"_I wish for you to be right, but the past already proved you to be wrong. Come to your senses, my friend. Lure the evil here and not even your allies will be able to help you!" _

"_You're a naysayer, Thranduil Elvenking! What evil it ever may be, we'll overcome it. You'll see..."_

* * *

"Do not say, I did not warn you!"

* * *

_It was the Arkenstone each visitor came to see first as soon as they entered the great hall, Thror had turned his throne room into._

_The white jewel shimmered bright within its socket high above the king's head, as if a cold fire would burn deep inside, as if it would pulse, as if it were alive._

_The heart of the mountain – maybe there was a reason, why Thror had given this name to it._

_But as cold as the jewel's light had been the welcome, the King under the Mountain had prepared this time._

_All of his heirs had been present, his son as well as his two grandsons, all dressed in regal attire, all watching him and his escort approaching the throne._

_He beheld the king when he bid him his greetings, and he knew, Thror had changed._

_It was within this moment, that his gaze had caught Thorin's and he had been able to read what was going on behind his brow. The young prince knew as well, that his grandfather was not the same anymore._

_There was a feverish shimmer within Thror's eyes when he presented his gifts to him and there was a strange tremble within his voice when he replied: "Well, Thranduil, Elvenking, we're grateful for your generous gifts, but what leads the Lord of Mirkwood here?"_

"_I brought to you the payment in exchange for the gems I left for your jewellers to restore."_

_Thror nodded and waved his younger grandson to step forward._

_He had known what the chest contained, Frerin presented to him. He had known it, the moment he had seen it. And when the young dwarf had opened the lid, it had been his hand, which started trembling. _

_The King under the Mountain had kept to his word, his jewellers had worked wonders, but when he reached out to receive the chest, Thror denied it to him..._

_No word, no explanation...except one: the payment hadn't been enough..._

_The next thing he remembered was a childlike voice addressing him and a small hand tugging at his robe._

* * *

'Why are you sad...'

Thranduil blinked the tears away.

He blamed the sun for them, but that, he knew, was not the truth...


	8. Little By Little, One Travels Far

**Chapter 7: T.A. 2790**** – ****Little by little, one travels far**

The first days of Spring also brought the first green along, after an endlessly cold Winter had kept the hilly landscapes of Dunland in its claws for months, and while snowdrops and crocuses started to colour the meadows, the last remnants of snow were still reluctant to give up where they hid on the shady sides of the hills; but with every day passing by, the sun regained more strength, and soon after the rivulets running down from the nearby Misty Mountains were free from snow and ice. Only the rumble of avalanches high up in the mountains reminded the inhabitants of the sparsely spread settlements, that, although the worst lay now behind, there was still always a chance for the Winter to return, even if it would just be for a couple of days.

The fields and hills of Dunland were not fertile, nor were they rich or of great value, but, nonetheless, they provided their inhabitants with everything they needed to survive.

There were the Hobbits of the Storrs, who lived near the meeting of River Greyflood and River Glanduin and close to the slowly declining city of Tharbad.

There were the Dunlendings, a reclusive folk, who avoided contact with other people of the race of men, but who were on rather familiar terms with the Hobbits who settled in the downs.

And there were the dwarves who had come to Dunland about twenty years ago after they had lost their kingdom and their home. They were of Durin's folk and although they were neither farmers nor countrymen, they quickly accommodated themselves to the conditions they found within these lands and its borders marked by the rivers Gwathlo in the West, Glanduin in the North and Isen in the South and by the Misty Mountains in the East.

Instead of being miners, the exiled dwarves of Erebor showed their many talents and skills now in various crafts and trades and they proved themselves as to be hardworking, dependable and resilient. They offered their hands in the villages of men to work at the forge or as jewellers, as toymakers, as tinkers or in many other trades.

Some went mining in the Misty Mountains, but as it turned out, these efforts were not as profitable as they would have wished them to be.

They all knew that Moria was close, the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dum, founded by their legendary and highly admired ancestor, Durin, the Deathless.

Moria, and its mines – riddled with veins of silver and gold and with seams filled with Mithril, the most valuable of all precious metals.

Moria, the Dwarven kingdom with its caverns, its great halls and its keen swung bridges and pathways.

Moria, the hideout of Duirn's Bane, of the great Balrog, the dwarves evoked when they dug deeper and deeper for the riches the Misty Mountains kept within their deepest depths.

No dwarf of Durin's kin, who did not know about the loss of Khazad-dum.

No dwarf, who did not know about the horror that slumbered within its once sacred halls.

No dwarf, who did not know about their exiled kin...

* * *

"Not with an army of all seven kingdoms united you'll succeed in removing the Orc filth from Moria! Mark my words!"

The sonorous voice of an impressive dwarf resounded from the walls of the hall, while he was slowly pacing the place, looking at each of those, who had assembled round the heavy oaken table in the middle of the room.

His eyes mirrored concern and although his outer appearance was fierce and although it revealed the warrior, he was, he was not known for acting with levity.

"What makes you think so", another asked from the head of the table, beholding the first out of wide eyes.

"That one and undeniable fact, that we'd just be outnumbered. They would simply overrun us!"

"None of us knows, how many of them really dwell in the halls and the mines", a third mingled in.

"No, that is true, my liege Thrain, but will you really dare to make a try to find out what's a lie and what's the truth?"

"What is this", the second asked: "You're not yet afraid, Fundin, son of Farin; you, one of my best fighters!"

"Not in the way you might define being afraid, my lord, but I have to admit, that an undertaking like this scares me, 'cause it might lead to another senseless loss of life and strength."

"You'd not deem it wise to make a try to reclaim a kingdom for my kin?" Thror leaned back within his seat, his gaze still fixed on the thoughtful and considerate Fundin.

"My lord, not a single dwarf of the seven kingdoms would doubt your right to rule, but I'm sure they'd doubt the reason behind the purpose."

"We cannot return to the Lonely Mountain", Thrain remarked: "Not as long, as the dragon is alive and resting on its lair. And we cannot return to the Grey Mountains for the same reason. The halls of Durin are close..."

"They are, indeed, and so is the danger of failing."

"So you'd prefer to live a life like this", the king asked: "exiled, mocked, asking for work and food and shelter like beggars?"

"You, my lord, will never be a beggar neither will your son, or any of your kin, and will you ever decide to call to arms, my axe and sword will be yours. But there is nothing wrong with living a life in peace, even if it means to exchange the glorious halls of your ancestors against an old farmhouse amongst the gentle hills of Dunland."

Thror just nodded, but it was almost written upon his brow, that his thoughts still dealt with Moria and about a way to enter the long lost halls of Khazad-dum. After a while pondering about it, he straightened in his seat and said: "Perhaps you are right, It might not be wise to enter Moria with a whole army, but to send in a scout to find out the true number of Orcs and Goblins dwelling within its halls and mines shouldn't be able to do harm to any of us."

"A scout?" Thrain frowned: "Whom would you like to send out on such a suicide mission, father?"

The answer, the king gave him, surprised them all: "I'll go myself, alone and without any company. No one will expect one single dwarf to be bold enough to approach Moria without an army or at least an escort."

"You cannot be serious about this, father!"

"My lord, think it over! Your kin needs you!"

"You will not talk back! For too long we watched when others claimed what's rightfully ours. If there is a way to lead our people back to their halls, I'll find it and..."

"...he'll not go alone!"

All eyes turned towards another of their kinsmen who had kept silent up till now. He was no warrior, but he had listened attentively and he seemed determined to keep to his words.

"You?" Fundin cocked an eyebrow: "You're a scribe! A chronicler! I doubt, you'll survive in the wild all on your own."

"Don't make a fool out of you, master Nar!" Thrain agreed.

"Not more a fool than the two of you", the king's first confidant replied: "What's more inconspicious than a dwarf accompanying his old liege. No one will become suspicious against us, travelling from Dunland to the Iron Hills..."

He raised his gaze and looked at Thror.

The king remained silent. The worries and sorrows of his son and of one of his best fighters did not escape him, but he needed them here. Thrain was right, this plan was a suicide mission; nonetheless he had to try it.

Since they had taken flight from Erebor this had been on his mind – to retake one of the ancient kingdoms of his kin to return it to its old glory and to rebuild a home for his people. No matter the cost...

Thror knew, if he'd find a way to drive the Orcs out of Moria, the dwarves of all seven kingdoms would unite to follow him – and if he'd not be able to return Erebor to his kin, he'd return Khazad-dum to them.

Before the silence started to get awkward, he got up and faced them all one after the other: "I'll set out for Moria all on my own – and Nar will accompany me. No one will know who he is and no one will learn who I am..."

* * *

An arrow hit the knaggy bark of one of the trees near the rivulet and a cheerful crow followed: "Hit it!" The young dwarrowdam clapped her hands and placed her long braid of thick, black hair back over her shoulder when she put the bow down. "The third in a row. For the first time."

"Well done! But you have to get quicker. You still need too long till you grab the next arrow. Enough time for your enemy to kill you in a battle."

To show her what was meant, the young dwarrow standing by her side reached out for an arrow, aimed and shot for just to do the same again within another split second. Both shots hit their aims – fir cones, high up in the trees – and those hit the ground close to another of their companions.

He smirked when the other shot him a glare: "You look as if you got hit by a mace! Calm down. Those were just fir cones!"

"Bow and arrow!" The second lad snorted: "That's an Elvish weapon! That's not for a dwarf!"

"But it's very effective at long distances."

"Pah! I prefer to look into my enemy's eyes."

"Is that why you carry your axe everywhere", the lass asked, leaning on her bow.

"What?" The lad grinned, when she addressed him and his cheeks reddened while he scratched his head, obviously slightly embarrassed.

"She said, if that's why you always carry your axe around..." The young archer said, giving the girl a wink.

"Nah", he smirked: "That is 'cause I want to become a fighter. I'd chase that dragon out of Erebor. All in the king's honour!"

"Aye! Of course! In the king's honour! I bet you'd just do it to impress Dis! We all know that you have a crush on my little sister."

"That's not true!" The other blushed even more.

The young dwarrowdam rolled her eyes. It was not for the first time that Frerin started to tease the lad and in a way she felt sorry for him.

Dwalin was the younger son of Lord Fundin and up till today, they all had been nothing else but close friends. He mostly accompanied his father when he came to see the king and the young dwarves enjoyed spending time together.

Dis was allowed to stay with them as long as she did not take part in their games, which meant staying away from axes, bows, arrows, knives and swords of all kinds. But neither her father nor her grandfather cared much about what really happened when they spent hour after hour exploring the lands their new home was surrounded by.

Since they had settled down in Dunland, their minds had been occupied with brooding over ways and possibilities to return home to the Lonely Mountain, to chase the dragon away or to wipe the Orcs out who dwelled in Moria.

She, Frerin and Thorin had to fulfil their duties as the heirs of Durin, but with their mother gone, there was no one who really took care of them. They had to learn to handle their sorrow and their grief and they learned quickly, that both, their father and their grandfather, were not able to give them the love they would have needed.

It was Thorin, who told his younger siblings bedtime stories and comforted them when they suffered from nightmares, it was Frerin who sang them lullabies and taught them how to play and dance, and it was Dis who took the role their mother would have held if she'd still be alive – but however none of them was already of age yet.

That was why Dis wrinkled her nose when she looked at Frerin and spat: "Why should he have a crush on me?"

"Don't know", Frerin shrugged, grinning and looking at both of them by turns: "You grew lovely sideburns, little one. Maybe he likes them."

"They look nice", Dwalin admitted, beaming.

"See?"

"Will you stop it?" Dis grumbled: "Otherwise I'll tell father to feed you to the Orcs."

Frerin burst out laughing: "Who knows! I'd like that better than becoming a husband. But tell me, sister, who would be your dwarf of choice?"

He dropped down on a stone and Dwalin, following his example, stared at her expectantly.

"That's none of your business. And if I'd know one, I'd not tell you..."

She beheld the two lads and after a while of pondering she asked: "How would you do it? I mean chasing the dragon away?"

"It says", Dwalin replied: "that they don't do anything at all but sitting on their hoard. I'm not so big yet, he'd not even notice me if I'd sneak in. And then he'd feel my axe and I'd bring you a tooth or a claw."

The siblings changed a look. Both got stern within a wink of an eye and Frerin said: "You better not wish to come across a dragon as long as you live! You've no idea what it's able to do to you! Not even the king's guard had been able to withstand its wrath."

"My father says, if the Elves would have sent help, they would have been able to bring the beast down."

"Many say so, but we won't ever get an answer to that question."

"Their king did not care..."

"What do you know about it", Dis hissed: "You haven't been there. But I was! This is, what the hot breath of a dragon does and I'm sure you don't want to experience it."

She removed the braid from her shoulder and a scar got visible. It appeared to be healed, but if one dared to have a closer look he'd notice that it still looked angry. And, really, the hot breath of the dragon still affected the once burned skin. It was just due to the skills of the Elvish healers, that it didn't hurt. The same applied for the other scars, those, she kept hidden.

"The Elves sent help", Dis went on: "they just didn't send fighters."

"And that is why she has a crush on the Elvenking..." Frerin nudged Dwalin and his smile returned.

"I have not..."

"You have", he taunted: "That smooth skin and those soft strands of hair..."

"Pffff..."

Before they could go on, they got torn out of their merry mockery, when Nar, their grandfather's scribe showed up: "The king wants you to join the feast that is prepared! All of you! Now!"


	9. False Hope Is More Dangerous Than Fear

**Chapter 8: T.A. 2790**** – ****False Hopes Are More Dangerous Than Fears**

"_It will be your duty from now on, to find a way to reclaim the mountain. I'll pass it on to you as soon as I'll step out of this door."_

_Thror wrapped a simple cloak round his shoulders and dragged its hood deep into his brow. It matched the rough clothes and the heavy boots he wore and it made him look unimpressive, not like a noble descendant of Durin anymore and even aside this, he offered a strange sight to those, who knew him well – with all the regal attire gone: the narrow tiara, which had replaced the heavy crown since they had taken flight from Erebor, the gems and beads which had adorned his hair and beard, signs of his rank and nobility, and the rings which he had worn for almost half a lifetime._

'_More like a beggar rather than a king', it came to Thrain's mind._

_A beggar indeed, but a proud one – and an old one!_

_Never before had he noticed, that the king had become old. Of course, if the age started to reach out for them, it went quickly. It was no long struggle as it happened to be for the people of the race of men, accompanied by sickness, loss of sight or loss of strength. If age came to the dwarves, it happened within a short range of time and so also came death – quick, without any long suffering._

_But with Thror it was different. He looked haggard and consumed by those long years spent in exile and by the knowledge, that he'd never see the Lonely Mountain again. The king had become bitter and cynical; he still blamed the Elves for not having sent help and the young ones listened attentively when he started to tell them this story over and over again. _

_The day when the dragon had come, had changed him to the core._

_It preyed on his mind that he had to give up the great halls of Erebor, that he had to leave all the gold and the treasure behind and that he had lost the Arkenstone. _

_The King's Jewel! _

'_It's like an obsession', Thrain thought. His mind was still set on the pure white gem as if it was connected to his father's mind in a strange, in a twisted way, befogging his mind and benumbing his thoughts._

_Where the wish came from to see Khazad-dum – Thrain had no idea. All he could do was to guess and that he wasn't willing to do._

"_Take this", Thror told him, handing a small box over to his son: "I will not risk taking it with me. I want you to keep it safe until I'm back or until you become king. You'll know its value and you'll know how to use it."_

_It was the last Thrain ever saw of his father and king: How he grabbed his bundle, how he went out of the door and how he and Nar disappeared: two small figures heading north, soon nothing more but two shadows in the first light of a misty morning..._

* * *

"Do you think, it's possible?" A thoughtful Thrain inhaled a deep drag from his pipe just to exhale it slowly and even more thoughtful.

"I beg your pardon?" Fundin raised his gaze, not sure, if he got addressed or if his companion just soliloquised.

It was long after midnight and it was all calm around them. The young ones went to catch some sleep a while ago, after they had some lively discussions about everything and nothing again. His younger son, Dwalin, wanted to hear everything they were able to remember about Erebor and its beauty and once more he regretted that he had never seen it. In vain they tried to explain to him, that it had not been a pleasure to witness the dragon stomp through the halls: he felt betrayed of a memory all of his friends shared.

First a plate of cookies Dis had brought only for him had reconciled him and he was still beaming when they were long gone. It was not to overlook that he had grown fond of the young dwarrowdam, but it was not his decision to make. If she'd ever choose a husband, it would be following the ancient rules of their kin:

It would be her choice and neither her father nor any other male of her family would be allowed to interfere.

Fundin smiled at this thought. He would not mind to welcome Dis amongst his family, he was just not sure if that was, what the young princess wanted...

"Do you think, it's possible", Thrain addressed him again: "To reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

"Well", he reached out for his mug of zûl: "it depends on if you want an honest answer or if you want to hear a simple yes or no."

"An honest answer would be required!"

"Then you shall get one: I'd say the same to you as I said to your father. You can go there, you can make a try, but the losses, you'll suffer, will be much bigger than the prize you'll win. We have both been there, we have both faced the beast. We are lucky that we survived. Many of our kin did not. And don't think, help would come from the other kingdoms."

"What if there would be a way in, the dragon does not know?"

Noticing Fundin's inquiring gaze, Thrain handed a carefully folded piece of parchment over to him. The other beheld it attentively and his eyes widened in surprise when the unfolded document revealed a skilfully sketched map.

"The Mountain!?"

"It is! My father sketched it and if we can believe his notes, there must be a way in."

"Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast", Fundin recited the runes. His hand sank and he cocked an eyebrow: "If that's a hint for a hidden door, it cannot be a small one..."

"What, if I tell you that there is not just a map and a hidden door, but also a key?"

Thrain hesitated for a moment, before he presented a well forged, massive and heavy key to his trusted friend and confidant.

"A key, indeed", Fundin replied: "But do you have any idea, which door it belongs to?" He stroked his beard and beheld the key again: "That might be useful to know."

"I know, my father escaped through a hidden side entrance by a hair's breadth when he tried to save the Arkenstone. Just a narrow corridor led there, narrow enough that the dragon wasn't able to follow. But he never told me, where this entrance was settled, which was no great help as..."

"...hidden doors are hidden and invisible." Fundin smirked: "Let's face it, my friend: even if you have a key and a map now, you'll not find this door."

"The children told me of another side gate..."

"Yes, but they also told you that the whole ceiling crashed down and blocked the corridor behind. The price you paid was high." Fundin shook his head: "If there is a chance to enter the Lonely Mountain again, then we don't have the skills. We cannot march through the front gate, we cannot sneak in through a hidden door, we don't know anything about and we won't find allies, who'll dare to face the beast that sits on its lair now."

"My father must be convinced that there is a way back. He also left this for me!" He took a heavy ring from his finger, an old one, engraved and adorned with a sparkling deep blue sapphire.

This ring – it was not a gift from a father to his son, it was more...

"By my beard! Whatever the meaning of this is, Thror must be convinced that it's safer in your hands now than it would be in his."

"Legend says, that this was the first ring forged and given to the dwarves, and legend also says, that this is the only one the Dark Lord Sauron never gained."

"He gave it to you for just one reason, then..."

"To keep it out of reach if he should come across Orcs or other creatures who served the Dark Lord once..."

The two fell silent.

Thrain was not sure what to think about it. If Thror was convinced that there was a way back to the Lonely Mountain, why had he been that hell-bent to visit the valley of Azanulbizar and the halls of Khazad-dum...

What was it that lured his father there?

He beheld the ring, but as long as he stared at it – there was no answer to any of his questions...

* * *

"_My lord, I beg you! Don't enter Durin's halls all on your own. You said, you came here to see Kheled-zaram, the lake of the stars, and to see Durin's stone. Mahal blessed us and let us have a look at both – the lake and the stone. Let us leave now, let the matter rest, my lord."_

_Nar knelt in front of his king. He looked at him imploringly, but Thror would not listen._

"_Nothing moved, since we arrived here, my friend. For three days. The valley is calm and there is no sign of an enemy expecting us."_

"_That is, what troubles me, my lord. It is too calm. Does it not make you wonder? That nothing moves? No bird, no deer, no leaf? This place gets watched, we get watched."_

"_Do you think, the gate would remain unguarded, if someone would await our arrival?"_

"_Unguarded? No! But don't ask me, my lord, for I'm nothing more but a simple scribe. I know nothing about war and battle and, nonetheless, I can feel that things are not the way they seem to be."_

"_Don't be afraid! What evil could wait for me here? In this place, which once would have been my heritage? Am I not the king? Am I not the heir of Durin? It is my right by birth and blood to enter these halls and no one will deny this to me."_

_Nar shook his head as he listened to Thror's words. They left him feeling at unease, and he feared that there would be no reasoning with his old friend and king._

_It was an ancient longing which had lured Thror here, rooted deep within his heart: _

_The longing to lay an eye on the beauty and the miracles of Khazad-dum, the wish to wander its halls and corridors and the desire to dwell where Durin once had dwelt, the father of their kin. And Nar knew, not even an army would be able to keep his king from giving in to this desire._

_He lowered his head, but Thror placed a hand on his shoulder and explained to him in a low voice: "This will be my last opportunity to see the halls of my ancestors. Don't you think I know that I got older? I'm tired, my friend, and there won't be another journey except one when we'll return. Mahal's blessings will be with me and Durin's spirit will guide me. So, don't be afraid of an unknown shadow where I am not afraid. That is what I demand from you, nothing more and nothing less. Wait for me outside the gate."_

_Nar didn't give him a reply. He just nodded and got up. The scribe bowed deep in honour of his king and he watched when Thror followed the path down to the valley and straight towards the great Eastern gate of Moria._

_There was no hint of a doubt and there was no sign of weakness._

_Thror went to enter Moria and he went as the king of Durin's folk._

_First, when he passed the gate and when he entered the corridor behind, it was, that Nar dared to move. He hurried down the path to follow his king and he would wait for him how long ever it would take him to return._

* * *

How long did he sit outside the gate, well hidden amongst the dense brushwood, his gazed fixed on the entrance?

How long did he wait for Thror to return that they finally could leave the valley?

His last count told him three days; three endless days, where he neither dared to move, nor eat or drink. His limbs felt numb, his eyes did burn and his stomach growled from hunger, but he did not dare to leave his hidden overlook. Too afraid was he, to miss a move.

It was, when the sun went down for the third time that he got addressed in a harsh and demanding tone, by a voice, rough and hoarse and filled with scorn and malice: "We know you're there. Step forward! Quickly, vermin! We have a message for you from our master."

Nar had no idea how he managed to get up. His heart was beating up to his throat, fear did almost choke him and his legs were close to giving in. He swallowed hard, but no word, no tone would leave his dry and split lips while he almost crawled to get the distance covered which separated his hideout from the gate.

"Tell everyone who wants to hear it, that not Thror is king of these caverns, but our master!"

A giant's fist seemed to press his chest together, when Nar struggled for air, only one step afar from panicking, but he picked up all his courage asking: "Whom do you name your master?"

"Have a look yourself!"

Following those words, something got thrown out of the gate, falling and rolling down the steps until it came to lie in the middle of the stairs, halfway up and halfway down.

It took the scribe a moment, before he realised what this lifeless and violated mass was that lay in front of him.

A scream escaped his lips, full of pain and anguish. His eyes teared up and he meant his chest must splinter into pieces. He bit his lips, his face an ashen mask, when he stumbled up the stairs. The broken body, those bloody leftovers, those twisted limbs...what lay in front of him now, barely recognizable as the living being it once had been, it once had been his king, his friend...

And his pain was not enough, it would not end. Next to him lay, the broken eyes now without light and life, the king's head, severed and disgraced.

Engraved in his brow, in dwarvish runes, he read: AZOG...

Nar collapsed to his knees, his face buried within Thror's motionless chest, and he cried and cried until a cold evening breeze cooled down his mind and made him raise his gaze. He straightened and dared to speak: "I cannot take his body home, so, let me take his head, at least, that we can bury our king and honour him..."

"Shove off, Dwarvish scum, and take this for messenger services. We'll take care for the proper burial of your king!"

A small purse landed close to him, filled with golden coins.

Nar stared at them in horror, but he did not dare to talk back once more.

The king was dead, tortured, disgraced, dishonoured...and nothing would ever bring him back.

His eyes teared up again, when he picked up the purse and when he stumbled down the stairs, blinded by tears and tossed by sobbing...

When the last sunlight slowly vanished, he turned round again and his broken heart got torn into shreds anew – when the Orcs streamed out of the gates of Khazad-dum and hacked apart the body of the king...


	10. The Doom Lies In Yourself

**Chapter 9: T.A. 2790**** – ****The Doom Lies In Yourself, Not In Your Name**

"That cannot be borne! We'll have war!"

Those were the first words they heard from Thrain after seven long days and his voice was rough when it broke the silence that had befallen the whole household since they had received the news that Orcs had slain their king.

They all winced, when he showed up, his face a mask of grief, of anger and of barely hidden ferocity, his eyes reddened, tired and dry and his hair and beard torn in utter despair.

A lack of sleep and too little food and drink had left their marks upon him, but he waved Dis out of his way when she wanted to hand a mug of zûl to him. The gaze he beheld her with was wild and grim and so was his voice, when he went on: "Send word to the rest of our kin, send word to all of the seven kingdoms and make known what happened in the darkness of Khazad-dum! Make known the regicide and the desecration of the king! Make known that this will not remain unanswered. They shall ready for war, the Orcs will pay for this!"

No one dared to speak, until Thorin raised his gaze, hoping to catch his father's eye: "It shall happen as you wish, my lord, if you really wish it to happen, but, father, won't you make a try to rest before you call them all to arms?"

Thrain stared at him, eyes wide and frowning: "Not yet, son! First, we'll mourn and honour the king the way our traditions demand it."

"That would mean to bury him, to give him back to rock and stone!" Dis talked back and all who were present grew stiff at her words: "You have no corpse to bury, you have no tomb! All you have is the knowledge that he'll not return. We mourned him for seven days, since poor Nar returned home. There is no more we can do."

"Quiet, lass", her father hissed: "We'll do as we always did, as our ancestors did and as our followers will do."

"Mourn the dead, then go to battle, that there will be even more to mourn?" Dis huffed when she pushed past her brothers, then she grabbed her cape and left the hall.

When the door slammed shut, some embarrassed silence followed before the murmur started and before they all dared to breathe and move again.

Frerin and Thorin changed a look, and first the younger, then the older followed their sister unnoticed as soon as the discussion broke loose about what to do and how.

They all agreed that they would not condone the deed the Orcs committed and that neither their words would remain unanswered nor their leader unpunished.

"No Orc will be King of Khazad-dum", Thrain roared: "However he may name himself! Wherever he may come from! He'll get repaid and I'll take the purse back to him on my own! Equal the cost, equal how long it may take! That, my friends, I swear by Durin's name! That Orc filth will regret the day it started messing with my kin!"

* * *

Dis did not care what her father, her brothers or anyone else would say or think about her running away.

She just had enough of traditions and the talk about death and war.

Since Nar had returned home, since he had brought the terrible news about the king's death, the only things all the males, who regularly met in her father's house, knew to talk about were revenge and revenge and revenge!

She hated the word, she hated its meaning and she hated what it would cause sooner or later; most probably rather sooner than later...

Since they had taken flight from Erebor, they had never stopped talking about it all: the gold, the dragon, the heirloom, the mountain, the Arkenstone, the treason of the Elves, the revenge...

For twenty years...

No, she had heard more than enough of it, and so she ran over the meadows and the fields until her sides started to burn and until her lungs began to protest.

She stopped and wrapped her cape and arms round her body, waited till she was able to breathe steadily again, then she closed her eyes and listened to the wind, as it waved over the hills, inhaled the scent of the wild flowers and enjoyed the warmth of the sun caressing her cheeks.

This was not a bad life!

Of course, it was not easy – they all had to learn that it needed hard work to survive in a world outside the safety of their underground halls – but it was no bad life.

For twenty years they had lived this life, twenty years in peace, but now they would go to war again.

Sorrow, worry, tears, blood, death and grief would come upon them once again – things she did not miss, things she did not long for.

Letting out a sigh, she dropped down where she stood and wrapped her arms round her knees. The soil was warm and she would not go back that soon. Not as long as the sun was out and there was still daylight.

First when a shadow fell upon her and when another dropped down beside her, she looked up:

The bold intruders were her brothers. Of course, she should have known it.

"Did they send you after me", she said, her voice silent, which was, as her brothers had experienced before, a dangerous thing to happen.

"Not really", Frerin replied, wearing a sheepish smile.

"Not this time", Thorin added.

"And none the less you're here?"

"So are you, sister, aren't you?" Frerin nudged her.

Dis couldn't help, she had to smile. He always managed her to do so and it still worked: "So it would seem..."

"Why did you run away, little one", Thorin asked: "It's not the hour for turning your back on the living and the dead."

"I neither turned my back on the living nor did I turn it on the dead! I turned it on the talk of war!"

"Don't you think we have to respond to a cruel deed like this?"

Thorin looked at her expectantly, but she just beheld her hands, intertwined them and untangled them. After a while she replied: "You'll not like my answer, brother."

"We'll find out. Just go ahead..."

Dis blinked, then said: "Lord Fundin warned the king, he told him not to leave, but he would not listen! Will you tell me what drove him away from his family, his kin? There was no need for him to go to Khazad-dum! No need! What did he think he'd find there?"

"Answers, perhaps, to never asked questions", Frerin threw in: "at least he actually was the rightful king of Moria as well."

"King! Yes, that he was. It is all I will remember of him. That he was the king!"

The two brothers stared at her first, in utter confusion, then exchanged a look and stared at her again.

The question they wanted to ask her was written on their brows and so she went on: "What do you remember of him? He was our grandfather, but as long as I can think, he had always only been the king for us. You were his heirs, ensuring him that the line of Durin would survive; you were a means to an end. There was only one thing, which had a meaning for him in the end – the gold!"

Thorin inhaled a deep breath, but she shook her head and went on: "You told us yourself, that, even when the dragon forced the gates open, he thought of nothing else but the treasure and the Arkenstone! He did not think of his people or his kin! His mind was befogged by gold and treasure! He'd have died if you'd not have dragged him out!"

She lowered her gaze and spoke her mind, now where they were all on their own: "As long as I can remember, he never asked what happened to our mother, he never cared, his mind just set on more important items. I was still little, but I was neither blind nor deaf. With our mother gone, we were nothing more, but precious gems in the treasure chest of the line of Durin. And that was how we got treated. For twenty years!"

Frerin slowly nodded when he wrapped an arm round her shoulders. She leaned in on him and felt grateful for his closeness and the warmth of his embrace, while Thorin remained silent, torn between the urge to fulfil his duties and his wish to be able to agree to his sister's words.

He saw her through the eyes of the eldest brother and also through the eyes of the heir to Durin's throne. That was what he got raised for and he wasn't able to forget about it that easily.

Of course, he understood, what Dis just said, but first and foremost Thror had been the king. Wasn't it his first duty to be the one his kin could rely on? Wasn't it his first duty to be the father of his people? Why did his sister not understand?

Dis sounded bitter, but wasn't she much too young for this? Actually...?

"Father says, we shall mourn the king and then, when the time of mourning is over, we shall go to war. What for? Revenge, he says! Revenge! Only death will come upon us. Again! For twenty years all we got to hear was, that there must be a way to get back to Erebor, for twenty years all we got to hear was, that there must be a way to drive the dragon out. And now, as if Erebor would not be enough, the king decided, that, if not Erebor, we have to make a try to reclaim Moria!"

"But that is what the king's duty is. To forget about his own desires to build and defend a home for his people."

"Thorin, have a look around. We have a home now. Sure, these hills are not the mountain, they are not the mines, but they grant us shelter..."

"Home!" Thorin spat: "Home you name this? Brown wastelands, thatched farmhouses, begging for work? That is no home! Not to me!"

"What then? Would you rather see our people die, lacerated by a dragon, hacked into pieces by Orcs?"

"That would mean to die fighting, not to starve."

"Forgive me, brother, but this time Dis is right", Frerin said: "No one had to starve, since we settled here. I agree, this might not be a life for a proud dwarf lord, but those who followed Thror here trusted in him. Otherwise, they would have gone to the Iron Hills."

"They followed him to Dunland, 'cause they had the hope, that he would lead them to new halls. None of them knew that they'd have to stay here for twenty years..." Thorin lowered his gaze and added: "If the Elves would have come to help, we'd not be forced to beg for work, for food and shelter..."

"You still believe, none of this would have happened if the Elves would have sent warriors?" Dis frowned and cocked her head.

"They betrayed our alliance. They turned their back on us. They watched us die..."

"Don't you think, Thranduil had other reasons? Maybe he valued the lives of his people higher than gems and gold..."

Thorin shot her a glare: "What do you want to tell me?"

Dis raised her head and her gaze met his, as adamant as his, as strong as his: "It was not the greed and lust for gold of Thranduil, the Elvenking, which lured the dragon here. It was the greed and the lust for gold of the mountain king and it was not the first time. Thror should have known better! Have you forgotten all the tales he told us about the Grey Mountains?"

"I have not!" Thorin admitted reluctantly.

"And you know yourself" Frerin added: "that it was not Thranduil, who did not keep his word, when he came to Erebor. They had agreed about it: our jewellers would restore the broken gems he entrusted to us and he would agree to pay the price. Thorin, you know what happened. The Elvenking brought both – gifts and the payment. And Thror still denied the gems to him..."

"I know", Thorin grumbled.

They kept silent for a while, then, after listening to the silent sounds of the wind for several moments, Dis said in a low voice: "I miss him. The way he died...I know, we cannot leave it unanswered, but I'm afraid. Father will have war...and you'll have to follow his call as well..."

"Nah, little sister", Frerin pulled her in a hug: "We're not even at age. No one will force us to fight. Trust me! Father will need us to keep a watchful eye on you that you won't run away with the first handsome dwarf you come across." He kissed her cheek and tugged on her braid: "And now, don't be afraid. We'll always be here for you."

"You heard him", Thorin said: "we've always been there for each other. Don't think that will change that quickly. To me there will always be only one treasure."

"What would that be", Frerin pricked up his ears.

"My siblings..."

"I'll remind you of it brother, keep my oath..."

"When you'll be king one day..."

Thorin nodded, a smile upon his lips: "I'm neither my father nor my grandfather. I'll always be Thorin..."


	11. Green are the Leaves I leave in Mirkwood

**Chapter 10: T.A. 2790**** – ****Green are the Leaves I leave in Mirkwood**

Restless!

He had no idea when he had felt restless for the last time. Ages must have passed by since and the feeling, unfamiliar and unwelcome, left him thoughtful and pacing his study.

For twenty years he hadn't spent a single thought on the dwarves who had taken flight from Erebor. Now it appeared to him as if it was just a blink of an eye, since he had left Thror and his kin on the banks of the Celduin, the king and all who accompanied him determined to wander South.

Never would he have imagined that these dwarves would survive the hostile deserts of Wilderland, but he obviously had been wrong. They did not only succeed in crossing the desert, they also succeeded in passing over the Anduin and in traversing the wide landscapes of the realm of Rohan to make it to Dunland, the hilly lands west of the Misty Mountains.

Thus, it showed to be true again, that the children of Durin were not only great craftsmen and fierce fighters, but also strong-willed and tenacious if it added up to survive the inconveniences of life.

Dunland then!

That was where Durin's folk had settled and rebuilt a life. He'd never had learned about it, if not, yes, if not...

Word had reached him that Thror, the king under the mountain, was dead; slain in front of the gates of Moria; beheaded, disgraced, his destroyed body fed to the birds.

Word had reached him that Moria, the ancient Dwaven kingdom, had fallen into the hands of a relentless Orc commander from Gundbad – Azog – and so it was, that not only the Balrog of Morgoth dwelled in the deepest depths of the abandoned mines, but also a host of Orcs.

Word had reached him that Thrain, the new king of Durin's folk, would go to war...

'So, this marks the end of the King under the Mountain', Thranduil thought: 'And in what a disdainful and abhorrent way.' He shook his head, slowly and sorrow-stricken: 'There will be no doubt: his son will avenge his father's death. Equal how long it will take him and equal the cost. The king will summon the armies of the Nogoth and for sure, all seven clans will answer this call. They cannot leave it unheard and unanswered. Not this time, not after an offence like this.'

Soon, he knew, the caverns and mines the Misty Mountains were drawn through with would resound from the noises of axe clashing with shield and sword clashing with sword.

No Orc would survive, the outraged dwarves would get hold of, and the toll of black blood would be beyond measure.

'Though', he brought to his mind: 'not only the toll of black blood. The price, the dwarves will pay, will be equally high, if not over and above...'

His gaze met the Lonely Mountain, far in the East, and unease befell him, like he hadn't felt it for a long time.

* * *

_The silence after battle never was silent. _

_The moaning of the dying, the groaning with pain of the wounded, the crying of the survivors and the yelling of commands on both sides – the vanquishing and the vanquished – would always be enough, for not to name it silence._

_And nonetheless there was silence, an awkward silence after the arms got laid down, after the battle cries ebbed away and after the last armour got removed till the next skirmish..._

_His father had been impatient, unwilling to follow the order of the High-King, Gil-galad, to attack the enemy with combined forces and as his host of Silvan elves never felt sympathy for neither the Noldor nor the Sindar, the king led to war, they would not obey the command of another but their own leader – Oropher._

_There was no doubt that the elves of Greenwood were both, valiant and doughty, but there was also no doubt on the fact that they were ill-equipped in comparison to their kin. _

_He never came to know, if his father had been aware of it when they prepared for the battle in front of the Morannon, the Black Gate, which marked the entrance to Sauron's realm of death and darkness, or if he took this risk willingly, knowing, they wouldn't stand a chance anyway, but when they faced Sauron's forces in the early hours of this day so many years ago, he knew, he'd follow him wherever he would lead them to._

_To which end ever..._

_Too many enemies they had to face and fight that day and he had quickly lost sight of his father, engaged in battle after battle himself._

_It was, first, when he heard those words of terrible ultimateness, that he got aware what happened: 'The king fell! Draw back!'_

_Never before and never after, he felt the heavy weight of weakness resting upon his shoulders the way it did that day. He was drenched in sweat and blood and it wasn't only black, it poured from all those cuts he was covered with as well. His body solely reacted to his tired mind, fending off an enemy where he found one, mechanically, not willingly anymore. And then, when he did as ordered, and drew back, he had to get aware how few were left aside him to follow the command._

_It didn't matter if he was covered with mud and blood when he rushed into his father's tent. The tears streaming down his cheeks washed both away within thin lines. _

_They greeted him as king already, but he would not listen, not even when they told him not to insist of bidding his father the last goodbye, not even when they told him, that the sight would haunt him for now and for all the days which were still to come._

_Oropher was still alive, but alas, what was left of him was barely to recognize as the once tall and slender elf he knew to be his father. _

_He forced himself to bear it, as he knew his father would have done the same for him, but he was not ready for to let him go. Much more than the last spark of life hidden within the broken body of the king it was him who wanted his father to stay alive, to stay with him._

_He would not say, that he knew, they should have waited for Gil-galad's command, he would not say, that this act on his father's own authority almost caused them all to die, he'd not say, that what he'd wished to tell him would remain unsaid forever now._

_All he would do would be to stay here until this last fight would be over, equal if it would be for the length of a blink of an eye or if it would be for the length of a day or two._

_Healers were around, but he sent them out to care about those who'd have a chance to recover. Within here, there was no hope left._

_It was when his father reached out for him, that he knew the time was there. Oropher's grey eyes flashed up in a last struggle, their gaze softened when he recognized his son, his pale lips showed a last hint of a smile, but his last attempt to speak would fail when blood poured over them and when the last desperate tries to breathe would rather choke him than bring him relief._

_There was no struggle anymore, no fight, when the maltreated body of the king gave up, when broken bones and twisted limbs relaxed and when the last light within his eyes ceased._

_There was no struggle anymore, no fight, when the paralysed prince sitting by his side gave in to his grief and despair, when he let go of all strength and when he collapsed crying and in abysmally pain..._

* * *

Thranduil shivered when the chill of a slight evening breeze caressed his cheek like a touch from another world.

He blinked and the memories faded away to the place deep within his heart where he kept them safe.

Oh yes, he knew how it felt to get torn apart by grief, he knew what Thrain must feel and he even understood the wish for revenge, but he also knew that spilled blood, equal of what amount, would never drown the sorrow.

Once again the Lonely Mountain caught his gaze and he narrowed his eyes when a vague thought found him, he wasn't able to get rid of.

What, if none of this happened by chance?

What, if it all replied to a call?

He remembered the days when a shadow seemed to soak into the halls his father had built in Amon Lanc, when it seemed as if an ancient evil started to haunt the days and the nights equally and when the woodmen began to name this dark presence the Necromancer.

He remembered the time, shortly after, when he decided to lead his people northward, leaving behind the Emyn-nu-Fuin and the Forest River to build new halls underground, close to Dale and Erebor. It was the time when he began to watch how giant spiders started to infest the forest and how Orcs began to gather near the abandoned fortress which was now known under the name of Dol Guldur.

He remembered when they learned that, greedy as only Durin's folk was known to be, the Dwarves of Khazad-dum dug too deep for gems and riches, that deep, that they woke an ancient evil from the past – a Balrog of Morgoth, a demon of fire and flame, of shadow and ash, a terror, too powerful to withstand.

He remembered when the Dwarves, unable to fight this enemy, abandoned their halls and kingdom, taking flight and seeking shelter with their kin in the Grey Mountains, the Ered Mithrin, while Orcs and Goblins started to spread all throughout the Misty Mountains.

Shelter the sons and daughters of Durin's folk found, for sure, and their craftsmanship began to blossom again, but not for long, just until their piled up treasures and hoarded riches lured the great serpents of the North.

And he remembered Erebor, turned into a dragon's lair twenty years ago when the deadly firebreather turned the city of Dale to ash and sacked both, the Dwarven halls and treasure...

Thranduil frowned...

Was it a coincidence, that right now, after all those losses, Orcs of Gundabad claimed the kingdom of Moria with its mines and caverns?

He went to have a look at his maps and to sum up his thoughts again – and what he found did not really please him.

What, if nothing, he had thought about, would have happened by chance?

Wouldn't they soon be surrounded by servants of the enemy?

An enemy, they faced before on the plains of Dagorlad, in front of the Black Gate?

The shadow of Mordor had always been present in the South! Orcs and the spawn of Ungoliant were haunting the forest! A Necromancer, who dwelled in Dol Guldur! The Misty Mountains infested by Orcs and Goblins and dragons from the North holding the Dwarven realms of Erebor and Ered Mithrin...

His eyes widened – none of this could have happened by chance and out of a sudden resolve he knew what he'd have to do. This was, indeed, a threat and even if no one else would see it, he'd not leave it unanswered.

* * *

"My Lord, please don't do this! The mountains and the Southern woods are no safe place anymore. Leave this to a patrol or order an escort to accompany you."

There was honest concern within his words, when the captain of the guard entered the study, and the slight hint of being upset within his voice, made Thranduil lift his gaze.

It wasn't only a hint of being upset as he found out when he beheld the guard, it was some deep worriedness.

"I will not consider leaving this to a patrol", he replied: "The answers, I hope to find, belong to questions I am unable to share with you at present. So, for now, you'll follow my orders as I'm unwilling to endanger the lives of my kin with levity."

"Forgive me, if I'm bold and if I dare to talk back, my lord, but many of us still remember the day when your father fell. None of us would bear losing you as well."

The captain of the guard looked at his king and added: "Losing you would mean to lose the light within the darkness this forest is soaked with at these days."

"Neither will the shadows consume the light you consider me to be, nor will ever a spider or any other evil spirit consume my body or soul."

"But..."

"Be at ease, I left orders for my son and he'll be the one for you to trust in as long as I am absent."

"How long will this be?"

"As long as it needs to find the answers to my questions."


	12. Deep Roots are not reached by the Frost

**Chapter 11: T.A. 2790 – Deep roots are not reached by the frost**

It was on a late summer's day when an increasing murmur of running waters told the lonely traveller that the Fords of River Isen were close.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and he drove his horse on, enlived by the prospectives to reach the opposite shore before nightfall.

Just a few more days and he would leave the Gap of Rohan behind, while the hills of Dunland would finally lay ahead – which meant, he would reach his aim before the last days of Summer and possibly even succeed in returning home before the first snow would block the Great East Road and the High Pass.

The Fords were broad and shallow in this place; that shallow that even a cart would easily make it to the other side without running into danger of canting over, and so he didn't worry for neither the safety of his horse nor for his own.

Having reached the river banks, he dismounted and patted his horse's cheek and shoulder, while he leaned his forehead against his companion's.

"Mae carnen, mellon nin! Manen le? Im penorven!"

He smiled, when his trusted four legged fellow nudged him, and he hurried to remove his bags, the saddle and his bedroll from the horse's back for the night. It was not sleep, he longed for, but to rest his body and mind before he'd have to continue his journey the next morning.

Weeks of travelling lay behind him, as did the wide landscapes of Wilderland and Rohan, and he hadn't received any news from his kin nor had he been able to let them know where he dwelt.

His plan had envisaged to reach the Fords of River Isen much earlier, but he had forgotten about counting in an involuntary stay with the Rohirrim and their King Fréalaf at the Golden Hall of Edoras.

They caught him shortly after he had crossed the Anduin, when he was on his way through the Wold, and if he wanted to keep his cover up, he had to follow them to justify himself to the king.

Thankfully, they decided to let him go after a couple of days, as he was rather disinclined to either give away the real purpose of his journey or to reveal his true self to the people of Rohan.

It was not that he held anything against them, but not knowing, in this case, also meant rather less danger.

Thranduil knew very well, it would most probably become much more dangerous for him in reverse as soon as he'd cross the border to Dunland

Letting go of this thought was the last thing he did while he spent this last night under the starlit sky of Rohan.

* * *

_Leaving the wastelands and barren plains of Wilderland behind had been more than welcome. The South of Greenwood, from the Mountains down to the former halls of Amon Lanc, was barely to recognize anymore and Mirkwood was truly the more fitting name, meanwhile, for the sick and suffering forest. The darkness, which spread from the ruined fortress of Dol Guldur, was almost as dense as the brushwood and the cobwebs, which made it impossible to travel on safe paths, and if there were still some, who had a doubt that an evil spirit had settled down here, there was none anymore about the fact itself by now._

_He fought an inward battle to keep his mind from thinking that this evil spirit was any other but the Dark Lord, but he failed in belying himself. Actually, he didn't need a proof, but others might not be that convinced of Sauron's return as he was, and he knew, they might take him for a naysayer – ignoring the fact, that he and his kin witnessed the change with their own eyes every day since they had left the hills of Amon Lanc._

_Bearing all this in mind, he felt utterly relieved as soon as he had crossed the Anduin to continue his journey through the wide lands of the Riddermark._

_That was before he crossed paths with a mounted patrol of the Rohirrim near Harwick, one of the larger settlements of the Wold..._

"_What business does a Ranger of the North search for in the provinces of the Riddermark", a harsh voice addressed him, while half a dozen arrowheads aimed at his head: "Speak rash!"_

"_No business", he replied: "that would bring harm to your people! Just the urge to travel South, before I can travel North again."_

"_This seems to be a rather long delay."_

"_I'd prefer another route, but there's none, since the Old Forest Road lies abandoned and since the Elves do not endure travellers on the paths they shaped."_

"_That very well may be...or not! But it is not me you'll have to answer to. You'll have to answer to the king!"_

_And so he ended up within the company of a distrustful Éored on the way back to Édoras, where their king held court – and he thanked the Valar that the illusion, he had chosen, worked on the men of Rohan. There was no need for them to either know who he really was or what his true purpose was..._

_Edoras and the Golden Hall of the kings, Meduseld, came into sight, long before they reached the city, settled on a green hill amongst the grasslands of Rohan and sheltered against enemies from the South by the White Mountains._

_The capital, the Rohirrim built for their people here, mostly consisted of plain wooden houses and at first sight Thranduil thought that the well-being of their horses meant more to them, than their own, as almost all of the stables were adorned with skilful carved images showing horse and rider, the kigndom's landmarks._

_Far beyond skilled had been the craftsmen, who had built the Golden Hall, and even to him, whose eyes had seen the most miraculous places of Middle Earth, this hall appeared to be worthy of all the praise he had heard about it before._

_Meduseld was a great hall, with its thatched roof gleaming golden in the sunlight and its doors faced north. As the houses and stables, he had seen in town, the hall as well was made of wood carved with images of beasts and birds, their eyes jewelled and their claws golden. Carvings also decorated the pillars, which supported the high roof, while colourful woven tapestry and cloths adorned the walls, depicting the history and well known figures of the Rohirrim._

_Opposite to the heavy front gate the throne was settled on a stage and from down the throne the king stared at him – alert, distrustful and curious about what led him here._

_That was, why he bowed and said: "Hail, Fréalaf, King of the Golden Hall and Lord of the Riddermark."_

"_I wished", the king replied: "I could return the greetings, but as far as I remember we never met before."_

_He nodded: "That is true! The name's Othar, my lord. I was on my way back to the North when your men picked me up."_

"_A name once well known amongst the men of the West..."_

"_An honour, even though, I just share the name."_

"_You're far from the North and from the borders the Rangers use to watch."_

"_My journey led me to Laketown. Since Dale and Erebor are lost, the people there need more help, than they get."_

"_The dwarves of Erebor crossed these lands. Their king asked for permission to stay, but as you may know, my people had to suffer from attacks of the Dunlendings for many years. These are unsettled days. Laketown, master Othar, is far from Rohan. If I could offer help, I'd not deny it, but you came across my lands..."_

"_You don't have to justify yourself, Fréalaf King, not in your own halls and lands. The Elves of Mirkwood do what's in their power to help."_

_The king cocked an eyebrow and smirked: "Then let's hope that it will be more, than they did to help the Dwarves."_

_He swallowed an answer, close to give his cover away. Instead, he just nodded and said: "Only time will tell, what will happen to the men of the lake. But that is not the only occurrence my brothers have to learn about. The shadow in Dol Guldur grows stronger. It is not safe anymore to travel East."_

"_It never was, my friend! But stay here for a while and tell me more, while joining me and my nobles for a meal.."._

* * *

Thranduil travelled North, alongside the Misty Mountains, after he had passed the Gap of Rohan and after he had left the Old South Road.

Mostly, he followed an old cart path which led him past or straight towards small settlements or single homesteads, where he asked for a meal and for information about the Dwarves, but both, meals and information, ran rather sparse and instead of getting long expected news, he got eyed distrustfully or even hostile, so, that he had to search on his own for the Dwarves of Erebor and their new king.

And so, it happened that once more several days passed by till he finally found what he was searching for...

Strange it felt to him, to imagine Thrain and his kin settled amongst hills and woods instead of halls of marble and stone, but none of the Dwarves he came across appeared to be desperate or disenchanted; rather were they interested in any kind of information he was able to provide them with, and in any tale he was able to tell them – about Dale and Erebor, about the dragon and the lake and about other places he had seen.

He got welcomed with great hospitality and treated with kindness and respect, even more when he asked for the king and his kin and where to find them, but he knew well enough, that it was better not to take this for granted. None of those he came across would have given him an answer, if they'd have learned who he really was.

And so he kept silent once again, when he spent the night within Lord Fundin's house.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything more satisfying, but you won't find the king within his hall these days. He's away for a meeting of our kin and it's not known when he'll be back."

His host lit a pipe and offered him another mug of zûl before he went on: "As it seems, this life in peace and calmness will be over soon..."

"You're not overzealous about those prospects as it seems?" Thranduil looked at him wonderingly, while he reached out for the mug to have a draft – more to please his host, than for the taste.

Fundin stroke his beard, slowly, frowning, thoughtfully and his eyes, clear and spirted within the weathered face, were fixed on a spot somewhere in front of him.

"I'm not", the dwarf admitted: "Does this sound strange for a warrior? That he likes peace and a life with his wife and sons?"

"Not at all..."

"Well, that is how I imagine my life to be. The truth is another. Whatever my liege will demand from me, I'll follow. Equal where he will lead me to."

"Even if it will bring death and ruin over you?"

"Even then. We're of the same kin; he's not only my king, he's my friend as well. I could never turn my back on him. But enough of this for tonight! Rest! Sleep! Tomorrow morning I'll lead you to his halls. One of the lads should be around for you to talk to..."

* * *

The hall, Thror had built for his family, resembled the Golden Hall of Edoras in many ways, even though it wasn't vested with a glimmering roof or skilfully carved pillars. It was more a farmhouse than a palace and instead of marbled floors its walls were built of framework, but it looked warm and comfortable with its thatched roof and the nearby stables and barn.

Thranduil still marvelled over this new home, the king had built up here, when the voice of his host tore him out of his thoughts: "Where are they, lass?"

"Thorin left early in the morning for to work at the forge and Frerin wanted to head out for hunting..."

He decided not to follow the discussion any longer, but went over to the barn. Curiosity might not have been known as a regal attitude, but for now he was a Ranger of the North and therefore, he allowed himself to explore this place before he'd have to leave as there was none of the Dwarves around he'd have wanted to talk to.

To his surprise, the barn was not all empty.

Armed with broom and pitchfork there was another dwarf busy at work:

It was not to miss that this one was a female, as her form was not as square and muscular built as compared to the males he knew. Her figure was rather smooth and rounded, instead.

Hard work had shaped her body, but it seemed fitting and it suited her well – in all those ways it was able to suit a dwarf well.

Long, thick strands of black hair fell down a strong, but also womanly back, kept in a loose braid, while black sideburns framed a rather narrow and tanned face.

Clear grey eyes stared at him in utter confusion and surprise, when she realized that she wasn't alone anymore, and her mouth dropped open while her lips formed only one word: "You?"

It was within this moment, that he got aware, that he must have had forgotten about his cover...


	13. Memory is not what the Heart desires

**Chapter 12: T.A. 2790 – Memory is not what the heart desires**

"What, in Durin's name, are you doing here?"

Dis dropped both, the broom and the pitchfork, before she hurried over to have a look out of the door. There was nothing she was less in need of, than another surprise in this early morning, but there was no sign that there would be another for a while.

Lord Fundin was still debating with her father's maidservant, and she waved him a good morning, before she closed the door again and before she turned round to stare at her visitor again.

Still, she was not willing to believe her eyes, and yet it was true. Standing in front of her, surrounded by hay and straw, covered in dust and husk, stood no one less than the Elvenking himself, dressed not in brocade, silk and satin, but in linen and leather and wrapped in a heavy woollen cape.

She would not have sworn an oath on it, but she was sure, that there was a hint of amusement gleaming within his eyes when he beheld her.

He was the one to regain his countenance a bit earlier and he hinted a bow, while he gave her a smirk: "This was not supposed to happen, young daughter of Thrain!"

"What do you mean", she asked, furrowing her brow: "That we would meet here?"

"No! That _was_ supposed to happen. I just did not plan to give my cover away. Honestly, you caught me by surprise!"

"I can assure you: you caused me the same experience."

"Forgive me, if I scared you, princess, but this disguise serves a purpose and I ask you, not to give this secret of mine away."

"If that is, what the Lord of Greenwood demands from me, then I say, be at ease, my lord; that I can do for you."

Thranduil sat down on one of the hay bales that they were at eye height and looked straight into her eyes: "It didn't remain hidden to me what occurred to your grandfather. I know, that it got denied to you to bury him the way the traditions of your people demand it..."

Dis lowered her head, but it did not escape him, that there was an unexpressed pain within her eyes. Not sure what the true reason was, he went on: "It also got to me that your father prepares for war..."

The young dwarf woman lifted her gaze and replied: "Yes! He'll have war! That is, why you won't meet him. He is away to summon the clans and to call them to arms."

"Then I am too late. My hope was to talk the king out of this."

"Not all of our kin thought that it would be wise to seek for revenge, but he would not listen..."

They kept silent for a while, until Dis asked: "Was this the only reason, you went to Dunland for? You must have been aware that you might fail."

"Actually", Thranduil replied with a slight smile while he got up: "I tried to find you, because I still owe you a story, if not two."

The dwarrowdam stopped short for a split second, then she let out a heartfelt laugh. "How is this", she asked: "I never heard that Elves were known for their sense of humour."

He cocked an eyebrow: "Be assured, there is much you never learned about my kind so far."

"I tend to believe you!" Dis nodded: "But what a bad host I am! You must be hungry and thirsty from the ride."

"The needs of an Elf compared to your kind are different, means in my natural shape I'd not long for food and drink for now, but I guess I'll have to give in to the needs the Ranger from North might have at this hour of the day. So, yes, I'll follow your invitation. Just don't be scared if it won't be me, you'll see at your table..."

He wasn't able to finish his last thought, when the door got pushed open and Lord Fundin's impressive head came into sight: "Oho, I was too rash telling you that none of the Durin's would be around to talk to. I see, you already came to know my lord and king's daughter."

"She caught me in here, finding that I got a bit too curious for a stranger. Forgive me again"

Dis swallowed hard when he turned round and when he seemed to look...different. The knowledge that he was still behind this rather unfamiliar sight didn't make it easier. She needed to remind herself that there was a reason why he travelled in this shape.

Neither her father nor her eldest brother would have listened to him if he'd have called on them as the king of Mirkwood.

* * *

"You come straight from the East?"

Thorin spooned his soup and dipped some fresh bread into it, while he beheld the dark haired stranger sceptically sitting vis-a-vis from him at the table.

"From the North-East, yes! From Laketown..."

"Laketown!" Thorin nodded musing about it for a moment. He exchanged a quick look with his brother and sister and asked: "Then there is still life in Esgaroth?"

"Many of those who took flight from Dale sought shelter with the men of the lake. The town grew and declined within the same breath."

"How is this? One should assume that they would find a way to survive."

"Not much trade is left, since...the dragon came. The Woodland Realm slips more and more into isolation..."

"Thorin smirked: "Why am I not surprised?"

An almost unnoticeable twitch of his cheek was the only movement which gave away, that there was more about this ranger than the eye was able to see.

It was Frerin who asked: "What about Dale and...Erebor?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything new, except that Dale lies completely abandoned now. Some wanted to return, but when the dragon sneaked out of the mountain in the dark hours of the night to hunt for a prey amongst the few who stayed in the city of men, even the last got aware, that there was no living anymore." Thranduil, in the shape of Othar, the Ranger from the North, looked at the three young dwarves and went on: "I wished, there were better news I could tell you, but the truth is: not much is left of what was once glorious."

"What about the dwarves of the Iron Hills", Dis asked: "Isn't Nain willing to help the men of the lake?"

"The dwarves of the Iron Hills do as the Elves of Mirkwood do. They stay in their halls. The men of the lake will sooner or later become inhabitants of a dying city."

Thorin pushed the empty bowl aside and remarked: "There is nothing in our power to prevent this. Look at us! The proud people of my folk got brought low. We have nothing to give." He shook his head, slowly and deliberate: "May the Elves deal with this for now..."

"It may be that the Woodland Realm won't be able to help either..."

"I couldn't care less! All I owe to the Elves of Mirkwood is being grateful for saving the lives of my sister and brother. That is much and it will do for a lifetime!"

Thranduil in his disguise inhaled a deep breath and decided once more not to reply to Thorin's sarcastic words. Instead, he said: "Lord Fundin, who granted me shelter the night before, told me, your people prepare for war..."

"That is true", Frerin said: "The way, Thror died...not only the dwarves of our kin will answer to this."

"You'll pay an immense toll of blood..."

"It is not my decision to make", the young dwarf replied.

"What if you'll be forced to answer to your father's call for war?"

"I'm still too young..."

"Never forget, young son of Thrain, you don't have to go to war for to die in battle."

"We'll fight if we have to", Thorin threw in.

"Even, if that would mean to leave your sister behind?"

"That, master Dunedan, should be nothing of your concern."

"Thorin..." Dis looked at her brother and shook her head.

"Don't you worry, sister, I have no doubt, that our guest will know how to get my words right. Being a Ranger of the North he'll have heard much worse, I guess. Many people do not trust him and those of his kind. Close lipped grim warriors, they are, who avoid getting engaged and involved in disputes, but always having a watchful eye on the goings-on. Only a few know, who they really are."

"Our number is shrinking, indeed! The more we worry about Middle Earth and its people."

Dis smirked! It was not easy to keep silent about the secret her guest kept hidden from her brothers, but at the same time she admired how easily he replied to Thorin's and Frerin's questions. Of course he knew about the history of this world and its people. His eyes had seen more than she was able to imagine and she was convinced that not everything he ever had witnessed just had been pleasant.

She placed a jug on the table and some mugs, then she grabbed her cape and said: "I'll leave you to the target of your discussion and go to look after the animals before I'll retire..."

Greeting her guest with a nod, she left and went over to the stables.

* * *

"I should not have demanded this from you! It was very selfish."

Dis turned round when she heard his voice behind her.

Moonlight silvered his hair – he was all himself again.

"You don't have to excuse to me. You heard my brother!"

"That I did! He'll become a proud leader of your kin one day."

"I just fear he might become bitter." She intertwined her fingers and untangled them again: "We are not like you; we'll pass away within a wink of an eye. So, becoming bitter, does not sound wise to me."

"Tell me, young princess, do you still carry your memories with you? In here?" Thranduil's hand covered his heart.

"Yes! I do! I still consider it the safest place. What about you? Do you?"

"Yes..."

"Will you answer me a question, Thranduil Elvenking?"

"That, daughter of Durin, will depend on your question."

Dis leaned back against one of the trees, her gaze lost somewhere on the horizon: "How are you able to endure all those memories of yours? Don't they overwhelm you sometimes?"

Thranduil went down on one knee in front of her as he had done it once when he had met her for the first time within one of the many corridors of Erebor. A smile enlightened his eyes and it seemed as if they would reflect the moonlight when he finally gave her his reply: "They do, princess; more often than you may assume. It might surprise you, but Elves feel as deeply as any other folk you may know. All we do is expressing those feelings in a much different way than you do. Many memories I carry with me, cause me a deep inwardly pain, but I won't let anyone know."

"Are you not afraid that it will tear you apart one day? It says your kind can die from a broken heart..."

"That is true, but to die from a broken heart requires to lose your zest for life as well; even for an Elf."

"I'm glad to hear, you're still not tired of life..."

He cocked his head and looked at her a bit puzzled: "Why should I? My heart does not long for death, it desires life. And my kin desires a strong leader."

Dis didn't give him a reply. Instead, she reached out to tuck a strand of his hair back behind his ear and placed her hand on his cheek as she had done it before many years ago: "Give Mahal's grace that my brother will see you one day like I see you."

Thranduil wasn't able to hide another smile. This young dwarrowdam owned a disarming way to speak her mind – just as her brothers – and he had no doubt that these siblings would become strong leaders of their kin as well.


	14. It's not bad celebrating a simple Life

**Chapter 13: T.A. 2790 – It is no bad thing celebrating a simple life**

A handful of white linen sheets spread not far from the Dwarven king's homestead, covered with mushrooms, herbs and flowers, meant to dry within the late summer's sun, wreaths of heather and lavender hung from a stretched washing line, moving slowly with the wind, and baskets filled to the brim with nuts, acorns, chestnuts and beechnuts waited to get sorted and treated.

The humming of countless bees was to hear from behind the house, where, underneath a broad shelter, a dozen beehives were settled, while curious birds picked grain and seeds from the yard in front of the barn which had successfully escaped the sacks they were stored within.

Gammon, flitches and cured meet filled the larder as did cheese, huge glasses of pickles, jam and honey and bottles filled with oil, while a slight breeze carried a different scent over from the small baking house settled behind the king's hall.

It tickled the nose not only of Dis and her father's maidservant, but also of her guest.

Thranduil knew, his time to be spent in Dunland was limited. He'd have to leave soon, if he wanted to make it to the hidden valley of Imladris before Autumn and if he wanted to cross the High Pass before the first snow would fall.

There was nothing left, he could do: Thrain would lead his people to war and the dwarves of all seven kingdoms would follow him. The two young princes, Thorin and Frerin, understood what he wanted to tell them – that it was madness to fight the orcs blindfolded from grief and filled with hatred – but they would not stay behind, if their father would call for them.

'Would I have stayed back in Amon Lanc when Oropher went to fight in front of the Black Gate', he asked himself: 'Would my son stay back if I'd fight in battle again? Yes', he assured himself: 'Legolas would stay behind, because I'd order him to do so. But, would he follow this order? Supposedly not...'

The Elvenking knew, Thrain's sons would not stay here just as little as his son would leave him to go to war all on his own.

None the less he felt the urge to talk to the Lord of Imladris. Elrond was known for to care much about the wellbeing of all free peoples of Middle Earth and, be it as it may, he might have an answer to some of his questions, which, as he reminded himself, had been the main reason for his journey: getting answers to unsaid questions...

It was the voice of the Dwarven princess which tore him out of his thoughts when she asked: "Did the scent of the fresh baked bread carry you over here, master Othar?" She wiped her brow and nodded towards the maidservant: "Go and get our guest some bread and butter, Gyda. I'll get along on my own for a while."

The maid hinted a bow and left for the king's hall, before he was able to hold her back.

"Still worried about my welfare, daughter of Durin?"

Dis laughed while she wiped her hands clean on her skirts: "Just as long as I know you'll hang around here in your human form. There is nothing wrong with letting yourself get spoiled; even if it's just a little."

She looked up, catching his gaze, and grinned, her cheeks stained with flour and smut from the oven and with strands of her hair escaping the bonnet she wore.

Thranduil returned the smile and for a split second he felt pushed back to Erebor. There was still enough of the dwarfling hidden inside the young princess and even the hardship of exile had not been able to take this away from her.

"It is not known much in the tales of old that a dwarf ever became a farmer", he said: "but as it seems the daughter of the mountain king's son enjoys her new life."

"You seem to be surprised?"

"It is uncommon for a daughter of kings and a sister of kings to be..."

"...says the king who travels unrecognized."

He cocked an eyebrow, but he swallowed his answer as within the same moment the maid returned carrying a tray with her with buttered bread and a jug of cider.

Dis gave her a nod and dismissed her: "This will do for now, Gyda. Leave us alone!"

She waited till the maid vanished back inside, then she offered her guest bread and wine, explaining: "It is not that I don't miss Erebor and what I remember of it, but it is not as much as my father or my brothers remember. I grew up, travelling the wilderness, living on the road and later amongst the hills of Dunland. This hall, this place, these lands...this is my home now. You know, my lord", she took a draft of the cooled apple wine: "there are not many women amongst the children of Durin and mostly we're kept hidden from the world. We don't travel very often, so", she smiled: "this is one of the rare occasions where I'll be allowed to see the world through my own eyes. It is true and you looked me through: I enjoy this life a lot."

Thranduil had no doubt that she meant what she had just told him. The young princess appeared to be content and at peace with herself, even if this place was far from all the comfort the great halls of Erebor would have provided her with.

He spun his mug of cider slowly in his hands, his gaze fixed on a spot in front of him, until he lifted his gaze and replied: "I know, there are many amongst your kin who blame me for not having sent help, when the Lonely Mountain fell. Many will even say that it was the fault of the Elves that they have to live a life in exile now – that is why you're the only one aware who's hidden underneath the shell of this rough Ranger of the North..."

"You honour me, my lord, showing your trust to me, but how can I be of use for you? You heard my brother, you heard my grandfather. Would you have taken the risk to give your cover away in my father's presence?"

"That, young daughter of Durin, would not have been wise, but who knows of what value it might be one day, what I consider to tell you."

"What makes you sure that I'm the right one to listen to you?"

"Because you are supposed to understand." When he got aware of her inquiring gaze, he blinked and added: "You know about exile and what it means to live far from the place you once considered home. So do I."

"How?" Dis looked at him with a mixture of curiosity, surprise and amazement.

"I don't think you know much about Elves." He raised a hand with a small smile: "No offence meant, but since your people and mine are not on familiar terms for a rather long while, it's just not to expect. The halls you were allowed to explore, when your brother took you to Greenwood, have not always been the home of my kin. Our home lay far in the West, settled between the Ered Luin and the sea – the Realm of Ossiriand or...Lindon. At that time, Gil-galad, the High-King, ruled, but as amongst the children of Durin, there are also different clans amongst the Elves and not all of them agreed about the reign of the king. One of them was my father."

"So there were unconquerable differences?"

"That is a nice description of goings-on which drove my kin away from the realm in the West and I won't give any more details away about them. My father led our people into exile. Willingly. And for many years. Until we crossed the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, and settled down amongst the woods across the Great River. What we found there quickly turned into our new home."

Dis listened to him with a slight smile and finally said after a moment of silence: "I may have been a wee lass at that time, but when you granted us shelter after the dragon attacked us, it did not escape me, that you love the place you made your home."

"I do and so do you!"

She nodded while her gaze wandered over the hills and the heathlands in front of her: "These lands may not be rich, but life was peaceful amongst the hills. And", she turned round: "the mountains are close. What else could a dwarf wish for?"

Before he could give her a reply, the dwarrowdam frowned and her eyes widened when a familiar scent began to tickle her nose.

"Oh Mahal! How could I forget about it..."

Without any warning, she turned round and ran over to the baking house.

Thranduil, still in the shape of Othar, the Ranger, shrugged and followed her, just to find her busy at work – removing fresh bread from the oven.

Her cheeks were reddened and her brow was covered with sweat, but the small woman would not complain. She was used to this and she knew which movements were required and within just a few moments the huge basket in front of the oven got filled with fresh baked bread.

The scent was alluring and it would not matter if some spots were a little darker than others. He was convinced the taste would match the scent.

"You almost made me forget my duties", she laughed when she found him standing under the doorframe: "In punishment of this you'll keep me company when I'll do the laundry later today. The rivulet is not far from here and I'll enjoy some spirited conversation."

* * *

Thranduil sat on a fallen tree, his back leaned against another, the hood of his cape halfway covering his head as he enjoyed staying himself while watching the young dwarf woman beating water out of the cleaned laundry.

"One could think, you're fighting an army of Goblins, daughter of Thrain. I assume, I can name myself lucky that I am the one I am."

"Just avoid stumbling upon my brother, then you'll be safe, Thranduil Elvenking! No dangers are to be expected from my side."

"You are kind beyond measure."

For several moments there were no other sounds, but the murmur of the river, the wind in the trees and the wet pieces of cloth meeting the closest stone, until Dis asked: "Did you ever question your immortality?"

He lifted his eyebrows staring at her in utter confusion.

Why this question?

What was this to her?

And...did he?

He got born immortal, there had never been a choice, neither for him, nor for his father or any other Elf. It was what they were, immortal, as the world they got born into was mortal.

So he replied: "I did not. Not so far..."

"Grandfather once told us that you fought in the War of the Last Alliance, the war in which the Dark Lord got vanquished."

"That is true. Many followed the call and faced the evil. So did one of your ancestors."

"Yes", she responded in a thoughtful voice: "and many got slaughtered and never saw their homesteads again."

"Too many", he agreed: "and I wished I could rid my mind of the memories of all those battles we had to fight in..."

Dis looked at him and even though he was tried to hide what troubled him, there was still that hint of pain and sadness somewhere underneath the well-proportioned features of his face.

"That is why you did not dare to fight the dragon?"

"That, young princess, is only one reason. I am sorry for the losses your people suffered, but I am not sorry that I spared the lives of mine."

His voice sounded cold and distant within this moment, as if he tried hard to push certain memories back to a place deep within his innermost which were close to reach the surface.

Dis picked up another piece of laundry and went on while she pretended to be busy: "It was not the first dragon you came across..."

"Stop it!" He cut her off and hissed: "Do not force me to remember what better remains locked away. You may wake a thing you would be unable to handle!"

"Don't you think we all carry our demons with us?" She lowered her gaze: "I'm not afraid of your memories or of your sadness or of your fury. I feel the same, even if it might not be as powerful as yours. What I am afraid of is what the death of my grandfather will set off! I'm afraid of what the fury of my father will set off! We lived in peace amongst these hills and woods and rivers. No killing, no death for twenty years. That is not much in a lifespan of an elf, but it is much measured by the lifespan of a dwarf. I fear the demon the grief and the pain will set off and this demon is war! You heard them. Even my brothers would follow its call if my father would summon them. My grandfather is dead. More bloodshed won't bring him back..."

"My apologies, princess", Thranduil replied: "my words were not meant to offend you, but my demons, as you name them, are still very alive and I will not take the risk of letting them consume me. I know what I faced in front of the Black Gate of Mordor and I will not allow it to crawl back into the light."

He paused for a moment, before he added: "Be assured, there is nothing wrong with wishing for a simple life, it is just that not all of us are allowed to lead one – if by our own will or by the will of others..."


	15. He thought much, but said little

**Chapter 14: T.A. 2790 – He thought much, but said little**

His return caused what he had expected and what he needed less within this moment, even though he was prepared for it: a stir!

It took less than a felt split second and half of his realm knew that he was back.

Expectant looks followed him, when he jumped off his horse, fondling its soft nostril, before he left the reins to his equerry: "Mae carnen, Mellon nin! Hannon le!*"

It took him some effort to choke a sigh when he saw his son approaching, the captain of the guard close on his heels, but all he did was giving his equerry a nod that he'd take care of the tired horse and that it got fed and watered.

Thranduil straightened and turned round to brace himself for what would wait for him. He knew, both would want him to answer countless questions and he knew also that he wouldn't be able, or better that he wouldn't be willing, to answer them all.

His son, Legolas, hinted a bow. A slight smile was on his lips when he said: "Mae tollen na mar, adar nin!**"

He returned the smile and the slight bow and replied: "It's good to be back!"

That was all they'd learn about the reason for his absence for the moment. Letting go of the hood and unwrapping himself from out of the heavy woollen cape, Thranduil headed straight for his chambers, very well aware that him still looking like a ranger of the North gave new nourishment for speculations and confused stares.

Exchanging a quick look, his son and the captain of his guard decided that this would not do to satisfy their thirst for knowledge and so they followed him.

"Father! Wait!"

"Not now!"

"You've been away for months and if not for Elrond's message telling us that you're doing well, there would not have been the slightest hint where you had vanished to."

"Not. Now", Thranduil replied again, still hurrying through the corridors.

"Don't you think, an explanation would be appropriate?"

At this, Thranduil stopped, turned on his heels and beheld his son, frowning, an eyebrow cocked, marginally surprised by this unexpected persistence: "Legolas, you'll learn about everything: the purpose of my journey, the reason for my absence and the reason for my wish to seek the counsel and advice of Lord Elrond. Just. Not. Now!"

There was something within his gaze, which told the prince that it would not be wise to insist on an answer and so Legolas held the captain of the guard back, while his father slammed the door to his private chambers shut.

*'Well done, my friend! Thank you!'

**'Welcome home, father!'

* * *

Thranduil leaned back against the door. He inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes. The silence was welcome as was the being alone and he would grant himself this moment of rest, thought and meditation. Of course, he understood why his son was that impatient and why his people longed for an explanation for his long absence, but what could he tell them...?

The truth was that there had been no reason important enough to justify his travels. What he had found near the old fortress of Dol Guldur, he had already known before and also what the answer of Elrond Peredhel would have been.

So, why this journey?

Why staying away from his duties and his kin and his halls for six months?

For sure not to convince himself of things he already knew.

He lifted his gaze and met the mirror on the opposite wall. For a split second it felt as if a stranger was looking at him. There was nothing regal about him within this moment.

The one staring at him from out of the mirror was a son of Men: Tall, strong, a warrior, a ranger; the face handsome, tanned and weathered; the hair dark and shoulder-length, the eyes of a stormy grey. His clothes looked worn and carried the dust of months...

He had chosen this illusion, this cover, carefully and nonetheless there was enough of his true self hidden underneath its layers, but first and foremost, it had to serve only one purpose: to keep himself safe.

'And to offer you the possibility to talk to those stubborn Dwarves...'

Was there a silent voice nagging somewhere inside his head?

And if, why was it nagging?

Was it not what it was all about?

Since Sauron had been defeated, a lifetime ago, in fact, many lifetimes ago if seen through the eyes of the mortal, they always had a watchful eye on what was going on in the South. They all knew, the Dark Lord had just been defeated not destroyed, and they all knew, he'd rise again. What they did not know was, when this day would come.

Thranduil had no doubt, that there was more about the shadow that had driven his people out of his father's halls in Amon Lanc and he would swear that this Necromancer was more than only a sorcerer who tried himself in black magic.

Too close lay his kingdom near the outskirts of Mordor that he'd not be alert, too deep ran the scars he had suffered during the battle at the end of the bygone age, that he'd not eye the goings-on in Dol Guldur with worry and distrust.

And nonetheless he knew: the levity, his father had acted with against the orders of the high king, would always have the rulers of the other Elven realms watch him with suspicion. He was the son of Oropher, hotheaded and capricious.

He smiled.

Did they really think he wasn't aware what they told each other about him and all his kin?

Did they really think, he wasn't aware that they called him and his people less wise and more dangerous?

How could they not be like that – living on the doorstep of Mordor?

He had another look into the mirror and the image of the ranger started to blur. When he blinked again, he was all himself again. All himself...

Hesitantly, he reached out and his hand touched his cheek while he stared at the face the mirror showed him. His own eyes glanced back at him now, pierced him, telling him, that he would never be able to forget what was hidden underneath the illusion of his outward beauty...

Dragonfire they had named it, because, although no dragon had been involved, the impact of its flames had caused the same damage: flesh and blood got melted from bones and left scars too terrible to ever heal entirely. He felt those scars under his touch – as if they were pulsating, as if they were still burning, as if they led an own life deep under his skin.

Thranduil turned away from the mirror and from the horror the images the pure crystal showed to him would raise from his memories.

He dropped the ranger's cape to the floor where he stood and filled a goblet with the heavy Dorwinion standing in a carafe on his desk, but the wine tasted stale and thick today and it was not able to turn his thoughts away from his journey and towards a more pleasant aim.

There had only been a few moments during his long life, so far, where he had ever felt the urge to rest, but he'd not deny it to both, his body and his mind, this time.

It had been a welcomed experience to travel unburdened and in disguise – that was what he had to confess to himself with a smile – and it had been much easier to gather all the information he had wanted to learn about.

Admittedly, the ranger from the North had engendered less mistrust within the world of men, than his real self would ever have been able to avoid, and his Master Othar had even been allowed to talk to the Dwarves where he, the Elvenking, would have failed ruefully.

It had just been when he had reached the Valley of Imladris, that his disguise had caused confusion amongst Lord Elrond's kin.

I was not, that the Elves of Rivendell were hostile against strangers, quite the contrary, but even to them it was not common that one of the first born would choose a cover for his travels.

And so, Elrond and his counsellors had been even more surprised when they had not just to recognize that it was Thranduil Oropherion who was hidden behind the stranger, but that he also had a rather uncommon business to discuss with them. One they had not been prepared for.

* * *

_Handing him a goblet of wine, Elrond went over to his writing desk. Concern got shown upon his sharp chiselled features wherein the heritage of both, Elves and Men, got mirrored, and wearing a thoughtfully furrowed brow, as he did within this moment, let him appear even more human than Elvish at times – although it had been ages ago since he had chosen the Elvish part of his blood over the human part._

_Thranduil beheld the rooms, the Lord of Imladris inhabited, and it was obvious that, although they undoubtedly had things in common, the differences between them prevailed._

_As much as Elrond felt bound to the world they had chosen to live in, as much he also felt the call of the sea and the longing for Valinor – even more so as he hoped to be reunited with his beloved wife one day. But as much as this desire might have been in his heart, for the time being, his concern belonged to the world they lived in and to his duties in the service of all the free people of Middle Earth. _

_It was not unknown to the Elvenking, that Elrond, aside others, was a member of the White Council. They were bound together by the worry about Sauron's return and what they found out about the goings-on in Dol Guldur proved them to be right: There was good reason for concern._

_Thranduil never understood why he got excluded from this Council of the Wise, although it was Greenwood, the home of his people, the shadow from the South had turned into a sick forest, a place infested by spiders and goblins, but he kept his thoughts hidden._

_The Woodland Realm never had great dealings with the other Elven realms and this was how he would keep it. His kin would endure the shadow and if isolation was the price he'd have to pay for it, he'd pay it – and this visit with Elrond was not about him and his kin anyway._

_Not this time..._

"_Seldom, it happens that Thranduil, son of Oropher, leaves his halls in the great forest to pay attention to the world outside." Elrond beheld the king who looked...odd...dressed like a ranger from the North: "What leads the King of the Woodland Realm that far West? It must be something of importance that made you cross the Hithaeglir; all alone and without an escort."_

_Thranduil had a draft of wine before he replied: "No Dorwinion, but of good taste, nonetheless." Elrond gave him a nod and he went on while his hand slipped over the skilfully crafted cover of one of the countless books lying on the nearby writing desk and while he admired a richly adorned map pinned to the wall: "It is true! What I have to discuss with you allows no delay."_

_His gaze was stern and by no means distracted any longer when he added: "War is ahead and if we won't find a way to prevent it, it might affect all of us like fire when it catches dried wood and turns it into a storm."_

"_War?" Elrond lifted an eyebrow and for a split second it appeared as if he was surprised: "It did not come to me by now that either Elves or Men prepare for war."_

"_I'm not talking about Elves or Men." Thranduil spun the goblet slowly in his hands: "King Thrain sent word to the leaders of all seven clans to prepare for war against the Orcs."_

"_The Dwarves? What business has Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, with the Dwarves of Erebor?"_

"_You surely received note that King Thror got slain in Hadhodrond. Orcs from Gundabad hold the ancient caverns of Moria now and they let Thrain and his kin know that no dwarf ever will return to their halls. Thrain's answer was the gathering of the clans."_

"_Of course, we came to know about Thror's death, but what business does the Elves have in this? You know, we had no dealings with the Nogothrim for ages."_

"_This may apply for the Valley of Imladris and the Golden Forest of Lorien, but you'll for sure remember, that Erebor and Dale were on friendly terms with my kin..."_

"_That is, I suppose, why they blame you for not having sent help when the dragon came?"_

"_Even a host of Woodelves is not able to cover the distance between my halls and Erebor within one day. Whatever we were able to do, we did. Anything else was beyond our power."_

"_Thror was riven by greed. His vision was blurred by the riches he piled up. A great king brought low by his desires."_

"_It's not that Elves cannot fall victim to greed as well. I know stories of old, where there got sung about some little flaws of ours." Thranduil smiled without letting the smile reach his eyes and he went on: "I admit, I'm fond of gems and jewels too. Who's not? But I think, that's not what I want to talk about. Greed has nothing to do with the foolishness Thrain is going to set in motion with his talk about war."_

"_Equal if Thrain, the son of Thror, will lead this war for greed or for revenge, it won't be in your power to prevent what will happen."_

_Thranduil turned round and faced his host a hint of disbelief mirrored in his eyes: "I got told many a times that I left Thror and his kin to die when the Lonely Mountain fell. The Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor were allies of mine, regardless what may have led to the broken bonds of old. Equal how many forces Thrain will be able to gather, you know the Orcs will outnumber them!"_

_Elrond kept silent for a while. He had not been prepared for such a disclosure, but as it seemed it was true and there was more of Oropher hidden inside the king of Mirkwood than the eye would see. He was of the same storminess and of the same passion as his father had been and the Lord of Rivendell feared he'd not only inherited his father's looks but also his father's impatience._

_Before the continuous silence would turn to become awkward, Elrond began pacing his study, explaining to his guest: "These Orcs from Gundabad, who claimed Moria, are most probably just a harbinger of what will wait for all of us in an upcoming near future. I won't deem it wise to act rashly as long as we don't know if Sauron has a part in their rise."_

"_So what is it, Elrond, the king's herald, suggests?"_

"_The Dark Lord has a watchful eye on us; on all of us."_

_Thranduil smirked at this: "It may have escaped your attention, Mellon nin, but the Woodelves face the darkness and the evil, the shadow brought upon us, with every new day to come. And it's not only the foul smell of decay, which sickens the forest. Goblins and giant spiders, the spawn of Ungolianth, infest the woods. Those, who still live near the forest, have new names for it, and the thick air and the poisonous water even affect my people, not only the mortal. You and the White Council may wait for some more obvious signs, but to me it is obvious enough. Accept the truth, Elrond, what's going on in Mirkwood is not the work of a human sorcerer. And it is not by chance that Durins folk got challenged at this point of time. Will you really sit and watch till you get a proof for Sauron's return? He's here already and you know that I'm telling the truth. I won't care if you deem it wise to act; rashly or not!"_

"_Thranduil! There is nothing we can do, at the moment, to destroy Sauron. Not even the combined forces of Dwarves, Elves and Men. All we can do, is keep him at bay and out of our realms, keep him unaware of what we know and of what we can do and what we can't. The war, Thrain will lead, is nothing of our concern. The Dwarves will have war and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. I already told you so...and if you'd make a try, you'd have to do it without the blessings of Imladris and Lorien...!"_

* * *

You'll have to do it without the blessings of Imladris and Lorien!

Thranduil let out an annoyed hiss. Of what use were all the wisdom of the Valar and all the knowledge they were blessed with, if they only used both for reacting instead of acting?

All of them just longed for the white shores of Valinor and for the green fields of the Undying Lands.

Why weren't they able to love this fragile world they lived in as much as they loved the memories of Valinor until they'd take leave one day, following the call of the West and the song of the sea?

This forest, sick or not, Greenwood or Mirkwood – this forest was his home. It was his home since his father led him and some of their kin here and he'd fight for it as Thrain would fight for Khazad-dum...at least that was what he wished to do...

He wiped a number of goblets from the small table standing at the wall and turned round pacing the room impatiently.

The truth was that, even if he would follow his wish to send help to support Thrain, he knew exactly that he'd never have enough warriors to ensure both: the support of the Dwarven King and the safety of his own kingdom. Without the help of Imladris and Lorien he'd have nothing to offer to Thrain and his kin and the Dwarves would not step back from their suicidal mission.

Fresh air soaked in through the wide open window and he felt his troubled mind calm down.

He'd have to calm down...

There was still one thing he had to do tonight: Legolas was still waiting for him to explain, why he had left and Thranduil knew, his son would not be amused when he'd learn about his reasons.


End file.
